#its so aggravating it makes me want to explode

[antlereed]

wish i liked wendigoon because thats all im getting recommended lately and it sucks

[perfectsunlight]

✧ 𝟬𝟰 ✧ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘁

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲, pushing

⸺

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁

𝗙𝗘𝗕𝗥𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗬 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟭

“no. now, bada. tell me now!” y/n shouted, fists clenched into balls at her sides. hot tears fell from her glaring eyes as she stared at the taller girl in front of her. bada ran a hand through her hair, trying to maintain her composure. 

there wasn’t anything that could stop the other girl’s meltdown. she knew better than that.

once the fire started, there was no way to put it out. she just had to let it burn out on its own.

the tension in the practice room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate. y/n's voice had risen to a feverish pitch, her chest heaving with every breath. her fists trembled as if they were on the brink of exploding into action. hot tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let them fall.

bada's attempt to maintain her composure was faltering. she could feel the weight of the younger girl’s accusations pressing down on her, threatening to break her resolve. her hand, once elegantly raking through her hair, now clenched into a fist at her side, mirroring y/n's anger.

"why are we talking about this here?" bada retorted, her voice tinged with exasperation as she turned away to face the mirrored wall. she couldn't bear to look into y/n's accusing eyes any longer.

but y/n was relentless, her voice trembling with the fury of betrayal. "because i want to know. i need to fucking know. was it you?"

bada closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words. when she turned back to y/n, her expression was a mix of guilt, frustration, and fear. the storm that raged between the two dancers threatened to consume everything.

“yes, y/n,” bada finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “it was me.”

y/n's face contorted with a mixture of hurt and pure rage. she took a step toward the korean, her finger pointing accusingly. “you knew how much it meant to me, how hard i worked on it! and you just stole it, without asking, without even telling me?”

bada couldn't meet the other girl’s gaze. it was a fury brighter than the sun, and she didn’t feel like dealing with the hothead right now. she looked at her hands, as if there was anything interesting to look at there. “i was desperate, y/n. and we worked on part of it together so i thought i could make it work for the group.” she explained as calmly as possible.

the american clenched her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “desperate? that's your excuse?! you think that justifies what you did?!” her voice raised even louder, disbelief ever evident in her tone.

“i had the company on my back! what did you think they were going to do? give me more time?” the taller girl snapped, feeling frustrated with the other dancer’s lack of understanding. bada was starting to feel aggravated now. how could the younger girl now understand where she was coming from?

“you could have just asked me! or just let me present the choreography myself!”

a sarcastic and forced laugh fell from the older girl’s lips. it was a sound y/n heard far too often from the taller girl. it was belittling, truly. “you really think they’d let just some american dancer get credit for choreography of a korean girl group?”

that was the sentence that truly snapped something within the young american. all she saw was red.

y/n's eyes blazed with fury as she shot back, “it doesn't matter where i'm from, bada. it was my work, mine! you should have given me the choice to decide how to present it.” bada's frustration bubbled over, her own anger flaring. 

“you don’t get it do you? the company, the fans, everyone expected me to come up with something groundbreaking. i thought i was doing what was best for the group!”

the american's jaw tightened as she stepped even closer to bada, their faces inches apart. “so, what? you're saying your fucking reputation is more important than us? than me? because you couldn't even respect me enough to be honest!” 

bada's voice quivered with heated emotion as she shot back, "no, it's not like that, y/n! i value our friendship more than anything, but i thought i was helping you by showcasing your talent." y/n couldn't contain her frustration any longer. she raised her voice even higher, her words filled with resentment.

“helping me? by stealing from me? i don't need your fucking help!” y/n's shoulders heaved with anger, her face flushed with emotion. "well, congratulations, bada. you got your glory.”

“selfishness? you think i did this for myself? you don't understand how much i've sacrificed for this group, for you!” bada shouted back. the older girl took a step closer to y/n, face so close to hers that she could see the flames dancing in her eyes. and in bada’s own were a hurricane of emotions spinning.

“do you know what they say about me because of you? you shouldn’t even be here, you know that?” bada snapped again, eyes glaring daggers into the younger girl. “you should be thanking me.”

the two girls were too caught up in their argument to notice aespa’s arrival, as well as redlic’s in the practice room. 

it was no longer an argument between two dancers. this was a battle of fire and water.

“is that what you think of me? is that how you really feel about me?” y/n whispered, venom dripping in her tone. 

but it was what bada said after that made y/n completely lose her temper.

the taller girl had a smug glare on her features as she scoffed in her face. “oh, it's not just me. it’s everyone.”

all y/n remembered was pushing the korean girl so hard that bada ended up hitting her back against the mirrors hard. she remembered redlic pulling back the other girl while giselle held by the waist and dragged her away. 

her vision became a blur of red-hot anger and hurt. the room seemed to close in around her, and she was only vaguely aware of the shocked gasps from the others and their attempts to separate her from bada. 

aeri’s grip on her waist tightened, trying to restrain her best friend. “y/n please,” she pleaded quickly. “she isn’t worth it.”

bada’s fingers brushed against the back of her head, checking for any signs of injury. the hurricane of emotions in her eyes had turned into a whirlwind of shock and disbelief. she couldn’t believe you actually pushed her.

the tension in the practice room was palpable, and as if a volcano erupted, y/n's voice echoed off the walls with a mixture of betrayal and animalistic rage. “after everything? you really think that i shouldn't even be here?”

bada hesitated, her smugness fading in the face of y/n's intense emotions. she realized she had gone too far, but her pride prevented her from backing down. “it's just business. it's about doing what's best for the majority.”

the room fell into a heavy silence as y/n's anger and frustration churned within her. she couldn't find words to express the depth of her hurt and disappointment. 

it was redlic who finally broke the silence, her voice stern and authoritative. “that's enough, both of you! we're a team, and this is not how we resolve our issues.” she let go of bada as she turned to face giselle, who still held onto the american tightly. 

“please,” gigi said in a hushed tone, feeling how fast her friend’s heart was beating against her chest. “it’s not worth it, trust me.” she knew y/n was far from cooled down, and she mentally thanked her trainer for the strength training she received.

 the other girls exchanged worried glances, their debut on the line as they witnessed the heated altercation between their teammates.

y/n's chest heaved with the effort to control her emotions, but her eyes never left bada's. “no,” she declared, her voice trembling with a mix of determination and heartbreak. there was nothing left for her. this was it.

no more bada. no more SM. no more dance.

“i quit.”

✧ 𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦 ✧ ⸺ 𝗯𝗮𝗱𝗮'𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲, 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿. 𝗻𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝘀𝘆𝗺𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗵𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿. 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗹𝗹, 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝟯 𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿: 𝗻𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗶𝘁, 𝗻𝗼 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼 𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘆.

⸺

✧ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ✧ ⸺ @10cmpulisic22 @zhivaxo @the2ndl @moonsvrse @arievlaw @awkwardtoafault @mightymyo @1luvkarina @jisooftme @angel-hyuckie @bangtancritterrrr @unforgivenangel @starchasermyloves @deadgirlwalking3 @cosettesrants @faatxma @santasbitch @jaeneohee @jxrdxnh @kaaylvst @jesuschrist2006 @enhapocketz @stinkbvgs @neuftaeng @sinifere @ocyeanicc @svt-rei @l-a-u-r-a--b @yunjinwrld @leo-dragon @phamminji

⸺ ✧ 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗗 ✧ ⸺

[couch-house]

You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but I am curious, what were the things that bothered you with Sonic Rush’s writing in particular?

oghgg let me see if i can say it all in some sort of organized and concise way..

BIGGEST thing for me is that this is a particular kind of story you see in childrens media that is. so aggravating to me. character A inserts theirself into some kind of social situation belonging to character B--a friend group, a party, or in this case, being blaze's friend--and is obnoxious until character B accepts them as a friend. i hate it. i want character A to explode. cream is character A in this story. she just... *insists* to blaze over and over that they're friends without ever earning that title. i--ooohh it makes me so mad.

second, related to that, blaze is right. everyone is telling her to trust her friends (WHAT friends?? she just met you people!!) and she can't do everything on her own. but she can. she is. she's doing really important stuff and everyone else is just getting in her way. the fight between her and sonic at the end is sonic PHYSICALLY getting in her way of stopping nega from destroying her whole WORLD... leave her alone!!! shes busy!!

third, every character is saying "oh, youre trying to save your world? that's too much for you. you should as sonic to do it instead! ^_^" with NO irony. not even a WHIFF of acknowledgement that this is transferring the exact same expectations onto sonic.

which leads to point FOUR. sonic does NOTHING to bond with blaze. there is no moment of recognition between them, no easy "i know what its like blaze. but I know i can rely on my friends to help when its too much even for me. you don't have to do this alone, i'll be right here beside you." NOTHING!!! THIS is how their climactic interaction goes

BE YOURSELF??? WHAT!!! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!!

like the PREMISE of the story is fine. but nothing in it is earned. and it has just general gaebage character writing you can expect of the time. amy is stalkerish boy-crazy "sonics girlfriend" just like she is in battle and riders, complete with sonic running away when she show's up. BARF. and knuckles..... he's talking to blaze about the sol emeralds and he says...

HE WOULD NOT SAY THAT. KNUCKLES LITERALLY WOULD NOT SAY THAT.

auughhg its so sucks. blaze deserved a better game. thankfully she GOT one when sonic rush adventure came out ^_^ i have literally no notes for rush adventure. marine best character ever. blaze so cool. everyone having fun boat adventures yay!!

^ YOU RIDE A DOLPHIN. ITS GOOD!!!!

[samsremedy]

Short DirkJake angst fic? idk theyre fucked up

Jake held his head in pain, trembling with aggravation. He didn’t usually get this angry, but good riddance Dirk could be such a gosh darn headache. He gripped his hair and huffed, his breathing heavy and threatening to explode at any moment. And that's when Dirk got the hint to just stop talking. Dirk sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “How in god's good name are we going to make this work, Jake? I wanted you to agree with me on this. It seriously feels like I’m talking to a brick wall here, and it’s not fucking fair. You don’t give a shit, fine, whatever. You could at least do me the courtesy and pretend that you do.” 

Jake was tearing up, he didn’t want to deal with this anymore. He knew he was a bad boyfriend and he knew damn well he was terrible at listening, he couldn’t help it! Dirk’s such a tricky person to understand, he’s like reading a book without glasses on. Jake wished he wasn’t. He wished he could be a good boyfriend and listen instead of getting so darn mad, but alas, he couldn’t. 

“Well how the frig do you think I feel when I’m forced to sit here and listen to you complain about some rubbish I can’t comprehend? It’s bloody exhausting! You’re always yammering about something I’m not doing right, and I’ve tried so damn hard to stop botching around and stand ten toes on your request, but nothing I do is right! Send me away to the calaboose because oh gee Jake English can’t accomplish anything in his measly life for the all mighty Dirk Strider!” 

Jake didn’t even realize he was yelling, and he didn’t realize the look on Dirks face when he finished. Dirk was glaring at him, his gaze cold and his fists clenched. Dirk turned around and stormed out of the kitchen, and Jake felt his heart sink. Oh boy, he's done it again, he made Dirk vexed at him again. He felt like crumbling. Dirk didn’t get how tired he was, and it wasn’t fair. But god, even after all of this, the last thing he wanted Dirk to do was leave him. 

“Wait, Dirk!” Jake yelled out, following after Dirk like a dog trailing its owner. He didn’t want Dirk to leave again. It was unjust, and upsetting that Dirk quit so easily. He was such a steady man, not even the wildest tornados could knock him over. But when it came to an argument he was so swift to throw in the towel and say good riddance. It felt like a sport trying to get Dirk to stay sometimes. 

Jake grabbed his hand, and the way Dirk snapped his head back at Jake gave him chills. He sputtered for a moment, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want to apologize. It’d change nothing. And he didn’t want to lie to Dirk and tell him he’d change, because he didn’t know if he could. He had already tried so very hard but nothing he did pleased Dirk. But he didn’t have any other choice. 

“Listen- please. Dirk, I know I'm not picture perfect, nobody is. But I try really hard to appease you. And I,” He stuttered. “Am sorry. Truly. I don’t know why I can’t please you, but I can sure try. I’d go to the moon and beyond for a fellow such as you. So please, don’t leave.” 

Dirks expressions softened, turning around to fully face Jake. He was falling for it. Good. Jake pulled him in for a hug and he accepted, melting into Jake's arms, Thank god. He didn’t know if he could take much more of Dirk being mad at him. He didn’t like how this is how their disputes ended, because it really solved nothing. But it was so much better than Dirk leaving.  

[dalgursbate]

let me be your friend(ly fire)

Summary: Tav’s encounter with Abdirak proves that, for Astarion and Shadowheart, there’s no better team building than a little team bondage.

Rating: Explicit WC: 13,135 Pairings: F/F/M and M/F, Astarion/Shadowheart, Shadowheart/Tav, Astarion/Tav, Shadowheart/Tav/Astarion

If she’s honest, Shadowheart has never much cared for Astarion, even before his grand vampiric debut. And she’s pretty confident he returns the sentiment.

He’s not exactly made the best impression so far, has he, what with pulling a knife on Tav and then assaulting her in the middle of the night. Doesn’t help that he’s a bit of a pompous twat, either.

Of course, her distaste for the man has nothing to do with him propositioning Tav only a few nights after Shadowheart’s date with her. Why should she care? She and Tav shared one kiss. Alright, so it might have been a kiss that made her feel kind of odd and tingly, like the muscles in her stomach were spasming in a nice way—but that doesn’t mean anything, really. Shadowheart would never be so idiotic as to develop a twee little crush on their party’s leader while they’re all busy trying not to die.

She’s much too dignified for that.

Well, her internal monologue deadpans as she sips Blackstaff straight from the bottle. Here’s hoping self-delusion isn’t a symptom of ceremorphosis.

The thing is, Shadowheart is not normally a jealous person. And it would’ve been fine had it been any of the others, she thinks. Wait, no. It could’ve been Lae’zel, and at that point Shadowheart might have begged Gale to hurry up and explode already. It would be a speedier end to her misery than the alternative, which would presumably be Faerûn’s first ever case of death by sheer mortification. 

So she’s glad it’s not Lae’zel, at least.

But it absolutely could’ve been, say, Karlach. She would’ve been so understanding about that. Karlach is kind, strong, and dashing. She has redeeming qualities, plural(!), which is more than Shadowheart can say for Astarion. 

What she means is that this isn't something that would typically rattle her so much. And it wouldn’t now, either, if not for how Astarion seems to always have a trick up his sleeve; she's worried that his intentions here might not be pure. Not to mention that his and Tav's tryst has, impossibly, made him even more unbearably smug.

Shadowheart takes another long drink. There’s nothing for it, she supposes. Tav hasn’t made any commitment to her, so she has no right to be upset about it. 

Sighing in resignation, she checks how much wine she has left. The liquid looks black inside the dark green bottle, sloshing violently against the sides for a while before settling into a placid line.

There’s not nearly enough, in her opinion.

Making it to the goblin camp the next morning is a minor production. First, there’s the matter of getting past the sentinel, which Tav handles with a slick bluff about being a hired sword. No sweat, that; at this point baldfaced deception is standard fare for them.

But then, before they can properly cross the threshold to the rest of the camp, they’re assaulted with a vision of the Absolute and its Chosen. Shadowheart instinctively reaches for the artifact she pilfered in her Lady’s name and, by some ineffable miracle, it shields them from the entity’s influence. Which is frankly a lot to process. On the one hand, they’ve gained some modicum of insight into the forces responsible for their plight; on the other, the ordeal raises far more questions than it answers, and Shadowheart can tell that they’re all a tad shaken by it.

Which is what makes it so aggravating that Astarion insists on poisoning the goblins’ booze tub with wyvern toxin—as if they need any more excitement. She wants to protest the suggestion on the grounds that it’s basically guaranteed to backfire, in any one of a number of uniquely insipid ways, but she opts to say nothing when she sees the mischievous glint in Tav’s eye. 

Harder to call it stupid when she’s on board.

Naturally, it does go spectacularly wrong. Because, despite how unintelligent they typically are, the goblins are clever enough to connect the dots between a troop of strangers proposing a toast and a mounting pile of drunk corpses. Which isn’t surprising, given that it’s conceivably the least covert assassination ever. If only someone could have foreseen this complication ahead of time, she thinks sarcastically. 

And because Shadowheart was born to suffer, the booyahg that accuses them of the crime is exceptionally screechy even by goblin standards, making her fervently regret drinking so much last night. Admittedly, that one’s her own fault, and a lesson she by all rights ought to have learned by now. It’s pure, uncanny luck that Tav’s gift for bullshitting ekes out an escape for them without any further bloodshed. She feeds the goblins some lie or another that Shadowheart barely hears over the irritation (hangover) pounding in her skull.

Taking a healing potion to rid herself of the headache improves her mood a little; entertaining idle fantasies of throttling Astarion improves it more. The bastard doesn’t even have the good grace to act sorry for the trouble. No, he’s visibly having the time of his unlife, not at all concealing his demented glee at the carnage.

But, praise be to the Dark Goddess, they’ve finally completed the quest of walking into the building. It only took two hours and several years off Shadowheart's life.

Tav determines that they ought to investigate the entire base prior to engaging with any of the leaders. Shadowheart thinks that it might be the first decent plan any of them have had all day, and is curious to see how they'll manage to screw it up. When she expresses this aloud, Tav chuckles and claps her on the back affectionately; she tries not to preen too much at the attention, but she catches Astarion’s exaggerated eye roll. She generously ignores it.

They begin exploring the sanctum, and most of the rooms they encounter are full of nothing besides dusty storage shelves and goblins, exemplifying its purpose as a makeshift base. That is, until Tav wanders into an unassuming nook off the main entryway, initially indistinguishable from every other one they’ve seen. The rest of them dutifully follow her, and they wind up in a small alcove that seems wholly divorced from the military operation. For one thing, there are no goblins to be found in the chamber, which automatically earns it the title of ‘most tolerable place they’ve been thus far.’

The absence of cultists isn’t the only thing notable about it, though; flickering candles cover the floor, casting a warm, delicate glow that climbs up the walls. It would nearly be romantic, if not for the table piled high with flails, maces, and other implements of pain. Dark smudges of what must be dried gore cling to the grout of the masonry, a few splatters of fresher blood glistening in the dim candlelight. The abnormal quantity of viscera in this room, as opposed to elsewhere in the sanctum, indicates that it is ritualistic, sacrificial in nature. 

As a Sharran, Shadowheart instantly identifies the den as a shrine to Loviatar, the Maiden of Pain quite familiar to her due to the affinity between the two goddesses. She sees a similar spark of recognition in Tav's eyes as she scans the room; understandable, with her being a paladin.

Which probably means that the man knelt facing the wall is one of her devotees. He’s not wearing much clothing, save for ornate leather pauldrons and a matching skirt that are connected by decorative straps. It sends a very specific message, and Shadowheart suspects there’s truth in the advertising.

Ever the fearless leader, Tav approaches the acolyte. As the rest of them fall into step behind her, it becomes impossible to miss the evidence of his self-flagellation. His skin is marred with patterns of red and purple bruising, and Shadowheart catalogs each mark with reliable knowledge of how it likely hurt to receive them. She can imagine the sharp hiss of the whip that gave him those whisper-thin welts on his back and thighs; contrastingly, the fist-sized contusion that peeks out over his hip would have been left by the deeper, more solid impact of a blunt instrument. Her own muscles throb with a phantom ache at the sight of them, her heartbeat quickening at the brazen display of depravity.

The man stands, turning to face Tav. “Greetings, child. I am Abdirak.”

“Tav.”

“I’ve met few aside from goblins here.” He gives her a once over, smiling faintly. “Ah, are you also here to assist with the prisoner?”

“I’m only passing through,” she answers slyly, offering no more information than necessary.

“Your tastes must turn to the exotic, if you would stop here by choice,” Abdirak says, not a lick of subtlety in the way he rubs his palms together.

Shadowheart doesn’t really follow their exchange after that, focused instead on tracking the movement of Tav’s tongue as it darts out to wet her bottom lip. Her favorite traveling companion is clearly not ignorant of the suggestiveness in Abdirak’s tone, and Shadowheart swears she sees Tav's breath catch, sees her lashes flutter coquettishly as they chat. 

Not only does it seem that Tav is aware of what Abdirak’s faith entails, then, but she seems unambiguously excited by it.

There’s a peculiar sensation in Shadowheart’s gut, vaguely reminiscent of how she felt after being catapulted off the roof of the Tyrran hideout but before she hit the ground, all weightless and swoopy. It almost makes up for the day she’s been having.

She wouldn’t have guessed it, is all—that their team’s ever-righteous commander would be enthralled by such a gruesome spectacle. Maybe that’s part of the charm; maybe how wrong it is makes it enticing.

Whatever the reason, Tav seems thoroughly captivated. Shadowheart is itching to ask if this is a fledgling curiosity for her, or if she’s flirted with these sorts of fetishes in the past. And also if she would be receptive to further experimentation.

Unbidden, a series of images flit through her psyche: Tav stripped of all clothing and bent over her knee, squirming in anticipation as Shadowheart teases the sensitive flesh of her ass with her fingertips. Or Tav sitting perfectly still, so good and patient for her, as Shadowheart uses one of the bundles of rope they’ve collected to weave an intricate design across her chest and back. She finds she rather likes the mental image of her like that, hands bound behind her and the taut rope scratching her lightly with every minute movement.

Shadowheart gets lost in that reverie for longer than she cares to admit, being that she’s ostensibly in public. When she comes out of it, Abdirak is speaking to Tav in a tone of hushed reverence, “–we worship her through pain. Often our own. But it is an intimate and loving thing, this sort of ritual, and one we are always… eager to share.” 

Tav nods, completely engrossed. She thankfully appears oblivious to Shadowheart’s degenerate flights of fancy, preoccupied with asking Abdirak about the ceremony.

Unfortunately, not everyone is so inattentive. For his part, Gale is—mercifully—too disturbed by Abdirak to notice anything amiss with Shadowheart. But Astarion is watching her closely, a knowing smirk playing at his lips, obviously able to deduce what she was thinking about.

Great, that’s precisely what she needs: for her kinks to be peer reviewed by a smarmy vampire. She can totally trust him to be considerate and respectful about the matter, and he definitely isn’t already plotting a myriad of different schemes whereby he can use this to embarrass her.

Maybe it’s not too late for her to join the cultists; she should ask the goblins if they have any devotional literature she could browse. 

Although, the more she thinks about it, it seems unlikely any of them know how to read. Probably theirs is more an evangelism by fire.

Regrettably, the reality is that, if she wants the best chance of preventing herself from becoming a mind flayer, Shadowheart is simply going to have to suck it up and live with whatever torment Astarion subjects her to over this. Her mouth wrenches into a displeased line as she reluctantly accepts that fate. She's reserving the right to be a brat about it, though.

Almost as if on cue, Astarion decides now would be a good time to use their parasites to connect his consciousness to hers. Shadowheart knows this because she hears his amused chuckle in her mind, without any warning or even a cursory attempt to ask her permission, as distinctly as if it were aloud.

Forget what she said about sucking it up, actually. Her new, better plan is to cause him a great deal of bodily harm. Perhaps by spiking all his potions with holy water, but she’ll workshop more options later as a treat to herself. She deserves it for not immediately striking him with a bolt of radiant energy at this massive breach of her privacy.

Shadowheart tenses in trepidation of him trying to pry into her psyche, hastily constructing mental barriers to inhibit that potential trespass. Shockingly, though, Astarion makes no effort to dig into her subconscious. In fact, it rather appears to be the reverse: the vampire using the link to broadcast his thoughts and emotions to Shadowheart, communicating telepathically without compelling her reciprocation.

This is an intriguing development, he says casually. Like this is the type of thing they do all the time; a friendly, normal thing for them to do together that isn't immensely disquieting. Our dear paladin seems rather taken with that deviant.

At that, a low hum of desire filters across the bond, and even though it doesn’t belong to her, it nevertheless sends pinpricks of pleasant heat to Shadowheart’s abdomen. The sensation is similar but different to that of her own lust, which is something refuses to examine any further. Evidently, though, Astarion is just as affected by Tav’s blatant interest in sadomasochism as she is. And for reasons entirely inscrutable to her, he’s determined that Shadowheart—a person who can hardly stand him on a good day—needs to not only know this information but experience it firsthand. 

Truly, hers is a charmed life.

Astarion is either painfully unaware of, or merely unsympathetic to, her vexation. He speaks to her slowly, as though savoring every syllable, And here I was, worried this excursion would be utterly dull. But if our dutiful captain revels in such twisted diversions, then I dare say we could have some fun, cleric. 

He hesitates a moment before adding, thick with intent, Should you be so inclined, that is.

Lady of fucking Sorrows, he cannot be serious. Her wound flares in response to the blasphemy and Shadowheart hisses, vowing to find time to be penitent later when the universe starts making sense again. Because this? This is absurd—Astarion can’t actually be trying to, what, trade some friendly banter about their mutual sexual attraction to Tav? Delight in the joys of cooperative voyeurism? Or possibly something too aberrant to even contemplate, based on how laden with innuendo his tone is.

She’s about to unequivocally rebuff him, to use the link to tell him to piss off and go be horny literally anywhere other than inside her head. But she stays her (metaphorical) tongue as it occurs to her that if she does, then the chances are pretty high that he’ll do exactly that. And mostly likely, he'll choose to do that with Tav. Which would leave Shadowheart equally horny about the whole thing, except with no one but her own hand for company.

Damn it, she really doesn’t want to have to entertain his dumb proposal, but she doesn’t like the other option either. She’s grateful, suddenly, that their connection is one-sided; at least Astarion paid her that courtesy, so she can assess the circumstances with some degree of privacy. Kudos to him for accomplishing the bare minimum amount of civility, she supposes.

Alright, Shadowheart thinks, the facts as she understands them are as such: Tav is romantically pursuing both her and Astarion, but her endgame is woefully unclear. She trusts that Tav was sincere about cherishing their night together, but that doesn’t invalidate whatever misguided affection she harbors for Astarion. And if it comes down to choosing one of them…she hates to admit it, but the vampire currently has a significant advantage, having already slept with Tav while Shadowheart has foolishly been attempting a slow burn.

Now, Astarion is offering…well, he’s not being especially forthcoming about the specifics. But unless this is part of some needlessly complex setup to humiliate and/or kill her (which she isn’t ruling out), then he’s making a gesture to involve Shadowheart in his relationship with Tav to some degree. If it were anyone else, she might find that considerate; he’s acknowledging that they’re interested in the same woman and, rather than trying to edge her out, he’s broaching a compromise. A situation where no one has to lose. With how insecure she’s been about this lately, the concept indisputably has some appeal.

Has the cat got your tadpole? Astarion mocks, more impish than outright callous.

Shut up, Shadowheart answers testily, I’m thinking. Projecting the sentence to him is easier than she would have assumed, as though there’s a tether adjoining them and she’s skipping the words across it like pebbles on a lake. It’s too intimate by half, however, and a peculiar sort of disquiet takes root in her.

Ah, Astarion says. Do try not to hurt yourself, darling.

She graciously elects to move past that.

Shadowheart glances back to the tableau of erotic tension currently unfolding between Abdirak and their leader. As the priest regales her with details of his worship, Tav's lids are half-closed, and she swallows like there’s something big and unwieldy lodged in her throat. Her weight restlessly shifts from foot to foot, like she is actively trying not to squeeze her thighs together. Shadowheart would be willing to bet the artifact that her underwear are already drenched. 

Tav is so responsive, so obviously greedy for attention. She would go wild, Shadowheart thinks, at having the undivided focus of both of Astarion and herself at the same time.

…As far as arguments go, Shadowheart finds that one very compelling. If nothing else, this presents a golden opportunity for her to suss out Astarion’s true ambitions vis a vis Tav. Keeping her enemy closer, as it were.

Screw it; if she can't beat him, then she might as well join him as he beats Tav.

Having made her decision, she cautiously reaches out to Astarion again, Perhaps we could take up a common cause, just this once.

Excellent, he purrs. The poor thing’s been through so much; it’s high time she got a bit of satisfaction.

Agreed, Shadowheart says easily, unable to keep the smirk from her lips. Seeing as I doubt she’s finding it elsewhere. 

Their nascent alliance aside, she’s immensely gratified when a muscle above his mouth twitches slightly, as though he’s suppressing a scowl. By the time Shadowheart blinks, however, his features slip back into a mask of magnanimity.

Yes, well, I suppose you wouldn’t know, would you? he asks cooly. Shadowheart is about to volley back with something devastatingly clever, but Astarion continues speaking before she can think of anything. Hmm, would you look at that. Seems our entertainment is about to begin.

“If you would permit it,” Abdirak says, and at some point over the course of their conversation he has stepped awfully close to Tav, “I can show you firsthand.”

There’s a pregnant pause where all of them are holding the same charged breath (though Gale’s is less lascivious and more apprehensive). Tav looks back at her party, like she's only just remembering their presence, nervousness flitting over her features as she presumably fears losing their esteem.

Astarion shatters that tension by grinning wolfishly, “I must see this. Don’t you dare say no.”

The anxiety in her expression melts away, her lips stretching into a smile so full of naked hunger that Shadowheart immediately determines that she made the right call. There is nothing she wouldn't do to see Tav like this as much as possible, a flush high in her cheeks and her pupils are blown, all flustered and pretty. When Tav turns to meet her eyes, Shadowheart allows her gaze to trail leisurely down the paladin’s figure. She hopes her expression adequately conveys what she’s thinking, which is something along the lines of: I want to devour all the sounds you’re about to make. It must do, because when her eyes return to Tav’s face, the other woman is staring at her mouth like she's imagining it all over her.

Gale clears his throat awkwardly. “Erm. Your hide, your choice, I suppose. Not quite my cup of tea, though.” 

Tav spares him an apologetic glance, but whatever concern she may have for his unease is not enough to prevent her from whispering, “Well, I guess I am curious.”

“Oh,” Abdirak sighs, the single syllable made weighty and significant by the near-tremble in his voice. “I have something exquisite in mind.”

As he lays out the ceremony Tav is about to participate in, Shadowheart’s pulse pounds in her ears like a war drum.

“Simply face the wall and we can begin,” Abdirak instructs, gesturing with a nod as he begins to run his fingertips over the instruments on the table.

Tav hesitates for long enough that Shadowheart worries she’s not going to go through with it after all (which would be fine, of course, albeit disappointing). But she then begins doffing her armor, starting with her boots. 

“It'll be a pretty shit offering if I can’t feel it through the plating,” she explains, as though the decision is solely a pragmatic one. It’s not terribly convincing when it comes out that soft and breathless.

Tav carefully discards each piece of her chain mail, setting them neatly on the stone floor. The chamber is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as she finishes removing it, standing before them in her plainclothes.

Then, after a pause, she unbuttons her trousers and pushes them down her thighs.

Tav doesn’t bother attempting to justify why that's necessary, but no one is about to complain.

Soon enough, her bottoms have joined the pile on the floor and her hands are tugging at the hem of her shirt. Abdirak’s stare implies that he’s about three seconds away from lunging at Tav and trying to eat her. Shadowheart would disapprove of it but she can't, really, sitting as she is in her own glass house.

Once more, she senses the press of Astarion’s consciousness sliding against hers before his arousal floods her synapses, potent and heady. 

Shadowheart has the impulse to shove him out; she might be begrudgingly willing to work with him, but she would really prefer to focus their efforts on Tav and limit their involvement with one another. But loathe as she is to admit it, it feels good, his desire thrumming in time with her own, compounding and amplifying it. And she’s been kind of lacking in the good feelings department lately, on account of her having a terminal case of brainworm. So despite herself, she relaxes to the phenomenon, lowering her mental defenses enough to return the favor (and it’s uncanny, isn’t it, to know how delighted he is that she does). Despite her misgivings, she's immediately glad to have relented when searing hot want travels back and forth between them in a feedback loop, building in fervor until Shadowheart is barely suppressing a shudder.

Tav finishes stripping off her clothes, now wearing nothing but a set of lacy underwear. It does not leave much to the imagination, and Shadowheart has spent weeks doing more than her fair share of imagining. She inhales through her nose sharply, not finding the capacity within herself to care about how flagrantly she’s ogling Tav’s ass.

Astarion laughs inside her head again, and a heaping dose of self-satisfaction trickles through their connection. Because, to Shadowheart’s endless chagrin, he’s already seen Tav like this.

Prick, Shadowheart says simply, but it’s difficult to be too upset when Tav is striding over to the wall on slightly shaky legs. She leans forward and presses her hands to the stone, her stance wide so that her back, bottom, and thighs are all poised to be struck.

Abdirak doesn’t move at first, merely taking in the sight of her. Eventually, he wraps his fingers around the handle of a mace and hums appreciatively. “Yes,” he murmurs. “This will do nicely.”

He stalks toward Tav, placing a hand on her lower back. She startles at the contact, hyper-reflexive, then centers herself back into stillness with a wobbly exhale. Abdirak waits for her to settle before guiding Tav to bend over further, her weight shifting until it’s her forearms, not her palms, that are braced against the stone. This new position forces her to arch her spine, forces her ass on display.

Ah, so Abdirak has abandoned any pretense of decorum as well. Hard to quibble about it, though, when the result is such an enchanting visual. Their leader is so delectably exposed that Shadowheart has to literally bite her tongue to smother the noise she almost makes. She can’t help it; Tav looks absolutely obscene like this. Like she’s begging to be ravished.. 

She anticipates a surge in Astarion’s passion to mirror her own, but it doesn’t come. If anything, he’s growing increasingly impatient, keen for the ritual to begin already. She’s taken aback by this apparent lack of interest, because she knows he’s turned on. Shadowheart is viscerally, intimately aware of that, so prominent and exhilarating that she’s tempted to stop thinking and melt into it. But as she examines the sensation more closely, she can tell that it’s primarily the promise of sadism stoking those flames; incomprehensibly, Astarion seems largely indifferent to Tav’s nearly-naked body. Which is baffling for a lot of reasons, chief among them that he’s already had sex with her.

So…why did he do that, then? Because Shadowheart doubts it was mainly to spite her. Was Tav just a convenient lay for him? Is he trying to get something from her? It would support her theory regarding his ulterior motives, but would beg a lot of questions about why he chose to rope Shadowheart into it. She must be missing context here, the disparate pieces not adding up into a cogent whole.

There’s a beat where she considers delving further into his intellect for answers, but she restrains herself. Given her own tendencies toward secrecy, it would be hypocritical. Instead, she says: Curious, that you aren’t thinking of bedding her right now.

I figure you’re doing that enough for the both of us, Astarion replies dismissively, hardly acknowledging her. It’s not a denial, and Shadowheart makes note of that. But there are more pressing matters at hand, as Abdirak raises his mace at last. 

He swings the weapon in a viciously swift arc, landing a solid blow to the meat of Tav’s right buttock. 

“The pain you suffer will cleanse you – do not fight it,” he orders, and Tav obeys. She cries out, a pitiful mix between a moan and a whimper. Little shivery spikes of pleasure shoot up Shadowheart’s spine at the sound, and she can’t tell whether they originate from Astarion or herself.

She resolves to put aside her suspicions for the time being; she may not know what his long-term goals are, here, but for right now their purposes are thoroughly aligned. 

In the calm before Abdirak’s next strike, Shadowheart asks, “Would you have joined up with her if you’d known she’d be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?” Her tone is demure and deliberately casual. It makes Tav quiver, unable to conceal her perverse elation at this small act of exhibitionism.

“I mean, I had my hopes,” Astarion responds without missing a beat. Tav buries her face in her bicep, then, endeavoring to muffle her involuntary whine at their flirting. 

(And if this is how she reacts to it, flirting with Astarion has just become exponentially more appealing.) 

Abdirak takes advantage of her distraction to crack the mace down once more, and Tav throws her head back and howls at the impact.

“Pain is proof that we live! Revel in it,” Abdirak bellows, so incredibly reverent. Shadowheart can't say she blames him for perceiving divinity in Tav’s pain. Judging by the phantasm of something clenching in deep her core, nerve endings singing in body parts she does not have, Astarion agrees.

“Come on,” the paladin manages to taunt in spite of her labored panting, “a child can hit harder than that.”

Fuck, Shadowheart is so thoroughly obsessed with her.

“Hah! You want more? As you wish, dear one,” Abdirak says sweetly, returning that steadying palm to her back as he swings the mace again, slamming it into the underside of Tav’s ass. She yelps, her hands balling into such tight fists that her nails must be digging into them.

Shadowheart can already see premonitions of bruises forming on Tav’s behind, the ruddy, irregular imprints of Abdirak’s weapon. Gods, she can’t stop thinking about touching them; she knows how hot under her fingers they’d be, all the blood pulsing just under the skin from the broken capillaries. As she fantasizes about it, she broadcasts the image to Astarion, sighing when another wave of reciprocal pleasure crashes over their connection.

In answer, Astarion envisions Tav’s thighs, as yet unblemished. He thinks about spreading them, about lavishing them with a flogger until they’re as marked up as her ass. About drinking from her femoral artery while the abrasions are fresh—feeling that same blistering heat under his mouth, making her twitch and spasm when his teeth puncture the still-tender flesh. Shadowheart would normally be opposed to him feeding on Tav, but it’s different when their emotions are entwined like this, when Astarion finds it so electrifying that it makes her dizzy.

Shadowheart bets Tav would let him do that. Unexpectedly, she realizes she would very much like to watch it happen, ideally with Tav's head resting on her lap so she can stroke the paladin's hair. She tries not to picture what might come after that, but can't quite help it.

Dear me, Astarion replies, faux-scandalized in a way that does nothing to hide his glee. Who would have known you were amenable to sharing her so intimately?

Shadowheart realizes that she must have projected that thought to him inadvertently, and she would probably be stressed out about that if she weren’t so turned on.

And of course Astarion is obnoxiously pretending this wasn't always what he was angling for, having retained just enough plausible deniability to act like this is her idea; she'd never expect anything less of him.

In the interest of not ruining the potential for a good thing, though, Shadowheart lets it slide. Which is something she's done enough times to day that she deserves some sort of medal, or possibly sainthood.

Not me, I assure you, she tells him, because it's the truth. It’s been a very enlightening day. 

Let’s discuss this fascinating proposal of yours at camp this evening, then.

Must we? she asks archly. You’re so much more charming when you’re silent.

As far as comments go, it's on the border between insulting and flirtatious. Under normal circumstances, she'd have stuck strictly to the former category but, well, Tav clearly got off on their flirting earlier.

Darling cleric mine, he replies, his mirth palpable, you’ve no idea how charming I can be.

With that, Astarion severs the link between them, and the tether dissipates as quickly as it was formed. The loss of him is almost more disorienting than the intrusion itself; now that she’s alone in it again, her brain feels bizarrely empty. Shadowheart will never, ever cop to it, but a part of her mourns the absence. 

That said, it does make it easier to focus on what’s happening in front of her, as Abdirak straightens and takes a step back.

“Sweet child,” Abdirak murmurs, “you bear the pain like a true believer.” His right hand flutters in an aborted movement, as though longing to hit her again.

Shadowheart notices him considering it, and while she doesn’t really want to put an end to the affair, she has aims of her own to account for. “Now, now,” she says coyly. “Don’t wear her out entirely, priest—I might have use for her later.”

Abdirak’s eyes are sparkling with licentious joy. “Then far be it from me to interfere with a private benediction.” He turns to Tav. “You may stand now.” 

She does so gingerly, her expression unreadable as she faces the party. Or, mostly unreadable; the arousal is still very conspicuous, but it’s difficult to tell what she’s thinking aside from that.

Abdirak drops into a deep bow and tells her, “I am proud to have served you this penance.”

“Thank you. I enjoyed myself.” The response spills from Tav’s mouth filthily with her speech so gravelly from her cries. It does funny things to Shadowheart’s insides.

Abdirak’s too, she presumes, given how he straight-up groans, “As did I, dear one.”

He bestows her with a blessing from Loviatar, and Tav redresses, looking significantly worse for the wear.

Gale coughs, voice high pitched and strained as he asks, “So did we still want to talk to Priestess Gut, then?” 

It catches Shadowheart by surprise; she’d completely forgotten he was there.

They don’t end up talking to Priestess Gut, as it turns out. Tav seems keen to set up camp for the evening, and Shadowheart can’t blame her for that. Although she’d healed her as much as she could, Shadowheart knows personally how draining that type of 'ritual' can be. 

She’s secretly kind of glad about their early departure, because she’s been struggling to think about anything other than what just happened and her tentative detente with Astarion. Tav had asked her a couple of questions during their trip back and she’d floundered uselessly at them, unable to believably act like she was paying attention. If Astarion’s snickering was any indication, he’d found her predicament hilarious.

But thankfully, they’ve made it home now. Gale has started preparing another meal that smells improbably good for the ingredients involved, and if he still feels awkward about today then he's hiding it well. Tav disappears into her tent, citing fatigue, and asks them to wake her up when dinner is ready.

In the meantime, Shadowheart lounges in front of her tent, endeavoring to focus on the book she’s reading and losing the battle. Her mind keeps wandering to her forthcoming conversation with the vampire. She wishes their plans had been less vague, but it does give her time to organize her thoughts.

Frankly, she isn’t sure how to proceed, or even precisely what it is that she’s feeling. Shadowheart doesn’t like Astarion; she honestly finds him sort of repellent, personality-wise, but she can’t pretend their little escapade wasn’t enticing. She found it weirdly fun, them sniping at each other telepathically and sharing dirty daydreams. And in a way she can’t imagine doing with anyone else, either—she couldn’t be that catty or that deviantly horny with Wyll, for gods’ sake. There’s a distinctive charm to her antagonism with Astarion she hadn’t noticed before, but that she suspects was always there.

The thought that her relationship with him offers her something unique and valuable is utterly intolerable, so she chooses to pretend it never occurred to her and rapidly turns her thoughts to other topics. Namely, that she still has a few concerns about his intentions toward Tav, and about what he wants out of this more generally; it’s probably her biggest reservation about allowing this…thing…to progress any further.

Mulling all of this over in her head makes her antsy to just get it over with; her body vibrates with excess energy, still keyed up and jittery from the encounter with Abdirak, and she’s tired of waiting around. She decides that if he wants to talk, he can do so on her terms, and her terms are that they should do it right now or not at all. 

Shadowheart reaches out with the tadpole briefly to instruct him to meet her down by the river, then starts walking.

Belatedly, she realizes it would have been easy to relay that message verbally, and wonders whether it might be dangerous to get too comfortable using the parasite like this. It could be for a number of potential reasons, but she figures worrying about it is a problem for a future version of Shadowheart whose capactiy to worry isn't monopolized by the thought of arranging a polyamorous partnership.

The trip to the river is a short one, and before long she arrives at its rocky shore, sitting down near the water. She studies the ripples on its surface while she waits for the vampire to arrive. It feels more real, now that they’re only minutes away from actually discussing it. A sick, sudden panic squeezes her chest as she questions whether indulging in this is the worst idea she’s ever had, actually. 

Shadowheart doesn’t have much time to contemplate it, however, because Astarion arrives only a few minutes after her. She’s amazed, having fully presumed he would make her wait; absentmindedly, it occurs to her that he must be about as anxious as she is to talk. 

Despite the day’s adventures, he looks perfectly put together, hair coiffed and remarkably free of grime. She despises him for that, envious of his body’s inability to sweat.

“Hello, pet,” he greets, sauntering toward her with effortless confidence. Her nose scrunches up at the term of endearment.

“Absolutely not,” she says. “Try again.”

Astarion grins wickedly. “How do you feel about ‘kitten’?”

“Differently than you do, I suspect, having never had one for a light snack,” she replies, unimpressed. “Perhaps your third attempt will be the charm.”

A pause follows, during which Shadowheart dreads the inevitable.

“Lover?”

So predictable.

“If you’re feeling suicidal, Astarion, we can talk about that,” she says with feigned benevolence. “I’d be honored to help you plan it.”

“Fine, if you insist on being tedious,” he sighs, as though Shadowheart is being terribly unreasonable. “Hello, darling.”

She closes her eyes for a long moment, exhaling slowly as she tries to combat her increasingly violent urges. 

“Astarion,” Shadowheart nods once she opens them again, finally returning his greeting. His eyes are bright with mischief, so very thrilled with himself. “I believe we have a common objective.”

“So it seems.” The vampire quirks an eyebrow at her bluntness. “What do you propose we do about that?”

“Well,” Shadowheart says slyly. “I have a few thoughts.”

“Do you now,” Astarion murmurs, not really a question. He leans down until his nose almost brushing hers, his voice full of salacious promise as he asks, “Why don’t you tell me them?”

It’s such a brazenly tactless ploy that it’s insulting. Worse, Astarion looking at her like that is twisting up her insides unpleasantly. She needs it to cease immediately. Actually, she needs it to cease thirty seconds ago, before it happened.

“Ugh, quit that,” Shadowheart cringes, putting some distance between them. “I’ve been inside your head, remember? I know that you're not attracted to me.” She pauses, then adds: “And for what it’s worth, the disinterest is mutual.” 

Shadowheart is annoyed that she even has to say it, having been nothing but straightforward about her distaste for him. That’s probably why her rejection comes out sounding just on the other side of ‘too belligerent': because it’s frustrating that Astarion would ignore her blatant signals and come on to her anyway.

He straightens to his full height again, recoiling from her as though slapped. “Is that so?”

“I’m not opposed to…collaborating with you,” Shadowheart continues, “in service of our collective inerest in making Tav come—so long as you know that she’s the only reason I’m willing to touch you. But by all means, you’re welcome to continue trying to seduce me, if being humiliated is what gets you off.”

Astarion puts his hands in his pockets, regarding her. 

“How foolish of me,” he says in a monotone. “Somewhere between all the wanton lust and fantasies of group sex, I must have gotten the wrong impression.”

Shadowheart opens her mouth to protest, but Astarion pretends not to notice.

“An easy mistake to make, you must admit,” he continues nonchalantly. “Given that you took such unabashed pleasure in sharing your innermost desires with me. Your commitment to the cause is admirable, to do all that for Tav’s benefit. Especially since she had no way of knowing it was happening.” Astarion locks eyes with her, then, his stare derisive, “But by all means, you’re welcome to continue pretending this is only about her, if it makes it easier for you to justify sleeping with me.”

Indignation charges through her like a minotaur, so fast that it makes her lightheaded. She smothers it, shoves it down, refusing to let him see her facade break. Refusing to feed into his pathetic delusions of her being attracted to him by giving him any sort of reaction.

Fortunately, repression is second nature to her.

“Speaking of Tav,” she says affably, like this is a normal conversation between friends. As far as deflections go, she is excruciatingly aware it is not the most artful. “I wanted to ask about your intentions with her.”

Astarion blinks, unprepared for the abrupt change in topic. “What of them?”

“She’s not stupid, Astarion. She’s going to notice if you don’t want her.” The words tumble from her mouth, harsher and more accusatory than she intends. It's possible his audacity is getting to her still, which is shameful in its own right. “And while normally I’d be more than happy to reap the benefits of that, I’d prefer if she doesn’t get hurt. In the unfun way, at least.” 

The shift in Astarion’s demeanor is palpable; he looks away from her, the muscles in his jaw tensing and releasing as though he’s grinding his teeth. He reminds her somewhat of a cornered animal, hackles raised and unsure whether to fight or flee. Except the only threat here is Shadowheart, and she thinks it should be gratifying that he considers her dangerous. Instead it makes her feel itchy and gross, like she's akin any common beast that's covered in fleas and foaming at the mouth.

Eventually, he throws his hands up, a noise of exasperation tearing from his vocal chords. “You are impossible, do you know that?” He glares at her, then, demanding, “Who says I don’t want her?”

Shadowheart is in too deep to back down, now, unable to take her words back even though he tries to give them to her. “You seemed apathetic about her earlier, aside from the sadistic bits. I happened to notice it, when I was in your head.”

“Oh, yes,” Astarion replies, dripping with sarcasm. “Very good, cleric. You’ve caught me: this has all been a cruel, elaborate joke I’ve chosen to play on a woman who could split me in twain if the whim struck her. How incredibly astute of you—whatever enclave of antisocial misfits you hail from is no doubt rejoicing at your perceptiveness as we speak.”

Shadowheart doesn’t know what to say to that, caught off guard by how contemptuously he spits the rant at her. She needn’t say anything, though, because Astarion fills the silence for her.

“Clearly, your brief sojourn inside my mind has made you the foremost expert on what I do and do not want,” he scoffs, affronted, which is an irritatingly reasonable point. 

With the benefit of hindsight, Shadowheart can maybe see how, under a certain light, she’s been a bit unfairly presumptuous. The idea of having to admit fault to him makes her skin crawl.

Astarion’s gaze drops to her mouth for a split second before finding her eyes again. “Which, incidentally, is rich coming from someone insistent on languishing in denial of her own desires; I’d appreciate the irony more if it weren’t so aggravating.”

An oppressive, fiery blush rises to her cheeks at the insinuation, and she curses everything because there’s no amount of compartmentalizing she can do to prevent an autonomic reaction.

He’s missing the point though, because this isn’t supposed to be about Shadowheart. It’s meant to be about Tav. She’s not going to let him distract from that, so she asks, “So you do want her, then?”

“Oh for the love of…” Astarion makes another frustrated sound low in his throat, and she gets the distinct impression that he wants to break something. Possibly her. Provocative thought, that. “Just—look, will you?” 

He leans down, placing his hands on either side of her head, and there’s a now-familiar pressure in her skull as he reaches out with the tadpole. This time, though, he hesitates, waiting for her permission.

Shadowheart acquiesces, and she hates how natural it is to do, now, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on it as her own thoughts are rapidly subsumed by his. He’s projecting more than just sensations, overwhelming her with an avalanche of different memories all at once. She winces at the onslaught, instinctively trying to shrink away from how bright and loud and vivid it is. Astarion holds her firmly in place, though, and soon she is experiencing life through his eyes.

She watches his sire coerce him into exploiting his body, forcing Astarion to lure in victim after unsuspecting victim, so many of them that they all blur together into a sickening, vulgar slurry. For one horrid instant, Shadowheart suffers the same revulsion, the same disgust, the same aching hollowness as he did for centuries. Astonishingly, the memories where he fails to fulfill that task are equally harrowing. With lurid clarity, she feels the flesh being flayed from his body as though it were her own; can feel his mind turn brittle and crack under the weight of Cazador’s psychological torture.

He shows her more recent memories, too—recollections of their time traveling together, of his first taste of freedom in so many years that he stopped counting them. There’s a desperation to cling to it as tightly as he can, so viscerally terrified of it slipping through his fingers. He’s reluctant to let himself hope it could last, knowing what it would do to him if he lost it again.

And then there’s Tav.

When he thinks about her, Shadowheart learns that tempting her into bed was strategic on his part, and something he’d always aimed to do. The Astarion in the present doesn’t shy away from that fact, letting her witness the unflattering reality of the situation. He does it, she now knows, because he thinks it will make him indispensable to Tav, that she’ll be easier to manipulate and more likely to protect him. Using his body as a means to an end like that is distasteful, but familiar, as easy to him as breathing is to her. His own satisfaction doesn’t matter; his survival does.

He has no expectation of enjoying it.

But then he does. He enjoys himself. That alone concerns him, and then the concern evolves into fear as the paladin continuously defies his assumptions. She’s impressively tenacious, strong, and unusually entertaining to talk to. She’s nothing but understanding of Astarion's affliction, allowing him to feed without judgment and miraculously taking joy in the act. She knows exactly what he is, and yet, when she looks at him she doesn’t seem to see a monster.

(The bond between them stutters, somewhat, as Astarion swiftly moves past that thought and onto the next. It makes Shadowheart speculate about whether Tav’s acceptance of him matters more than he’s willing to confess, how dearly he craves it more precious than every other secret he’s divulging to her.)

The more Astarion shows her, the more it becomes unmistakable that—entirely by accident and against his own will—the vampire sincerely likes Tav. He would very much prefer not to, but he doesn’t exactly have a say in the matter; even an unbeating heart wants what it wants.

Which brings them to today. Reliving such recent events from his perspective is disorienting enough that Shadowheart begins to grow nauseated, but she wills herself to remain present. When Tav submits so readily, so earnestly, to Abdirak’s sadistic whims, it makes Astarion long to be the one hurting her. He can see that she needs it, her gasps at each hit sounding far more like catharsis than pain to his ears. The idea of being the one to give that to her is electrifying.

It means something to him, too, to see the techniques used to torture him for so unbearably long reclaimed into something euphoric, beautiful. Sex itself is not a prospect he finds especially motivating; it can’t be, after everything. But much to his own disgust, his affection for Tav and his saccharine impulse to make her feel good has awakened Astarion's long-dead libido. The massive amount of faith it takes for him to even desire that kind of interaction is not something he is capable of feeling with a total stranger in the room, though, no matter how titillating it is to watch Tav writhe and scream.

(The memory he shows her of today is conspicuously choppy, as though he’s carefully presenting her only a fraction of the truth. Shadowheart suspects he’s purposefully editing her out of it, safeguarding his opinion of her. It's a valid move; she’d do the same were their positions reversed. Nevertheless, she wonders whether he’s hiding it because it’s bad, or if he’s hiding it because it isn’t.)

Astarion releases her temples, then, and Shadowheart brutally slams back into herself. It’s not unlike being engulfed in light after hours spent in darkness, harsh and unforgiving while she readjusts to reality. She feels wetness on her cheeks and realizes that she’s crying, and she has no clue when that happened. For his part, Astarion appears equally exhausted, hands braced on his knees as his body heaves with gulping breaths he need not actually take.

“Happy now?” he asks bitterly, once he collects himself.

“Don’t know if that’s the word I’d use,” Shadowheart answers, still processing everything he’s shown her. There’s a rising tide of guilt in her chest, which is severely uncomfortable. She’s so bad at this, at admitting when she’s wrong. It’s like she’s a kid again, being reprimanded by the Mother Superior and feeling so small and shitty and insignificant.

It helps that she knows he wouldn’t have shown her that just to make her realize she’s been uncharitable to him, although she definitely has. Giving her that many pieces of himself, rendering himself so vulnerable (especially to someone like her, someone who has spent her life learning how to exploit weakness), all to win an argument would be certifiably insane. And if there’s one quality Astarion has in spades, it’s self-preservation. 

The only thing that makes sense is that, for some reason, it’s important to him that she understands. That she trusts him. Because he obviously trusts her, to confide in her like that.

It unsettles her, a little. A lot. But she thinks she owes it to him to at least try, so she sighs and tells him, “I’m sorry I doubted you.” It’s the best she can do, because she knows she can’t express sympathy for him having gone through all of it, certain he would mistake it for unwelcome pity. 

“It’s a touch late for apologies, isn’t it?” he grumbles, but he plops down gracelessly beside her anyway.

“Oh, lovely,” Shadowheart deadpans. “Because I’ve never been particularly good at them.”

“It’s fine,” Astarion says, though it’s ambiguous which one of them he’s trying to reassure. Then, atonally cheerful, he adds, “Besides, we’ve bared so much of our souls already! Why bother showing restraint now?”

Shadowheart snorts, appreciative of the gallows humor to cut the tension somewhat. Neither of them speaks again for a moment, both staring out at the water in front of them. 

“I don’t want to see yours, for the record,” Astarion says after a minute, still not meeting her eyes. “Whatever happened in that messed up little head to make you like that kind of thing, I mean.”

“Not everyone’s fetishes have a tragic backstory,” Shadowheart points out.

“Of course,” he agrees amiably. “But yours do.”

“Fair play.” 

They fall back into stillness, and it’s almost companionable. Shadowheart doesn't know when or why that happened, but it's comforting. She isn’t sure how much time passes like that, with the only sounds being the flow of the river and the distant chirping of birds.

Eventually, she looks at him and says, “It’s weird, you not talking. Really putting the ‘dead’ in ‘dead-quiet.’”

“I shudder to think how long you’ve been sitting on that one,” Astarion replies. “And I seem to recall you finding me prettier when silent.”

“Is that what it was?” Shadowheart asks, bemused. “Could’ve sworn I said charming.”

He shrugs agreeably. “Who’s to say?”

Their eyes meet, then, and when Shadowheart smiles at him, he returns it. She knocks her shoulder against his. “You know, if you wanted to make it less complicated for us to negotiate a threesome, I feel I should say you chose a spectacularly bad tactic.”

Astarion laughs loudly, surprised. “Perhaps,” he agrees cheekily, “but look how endeared you are to me now.”

“So that was your grand design, was it?”

“A bit,” he admits, and it makes her heart thump considerably faster, how it sounds almost sincere. Odd. “Has it worked?”

“I don’t know,” Shadowheart murmurs thoughtfully. “You still slept with the girl I like.”

“I did,” he concedes. “And I think I’d rather like to do it again. Care to join?”

She grins. “I could be persuaded.”

“How convenient,” Astarion says, turning to face her. Shadowheart mirrors the position reflexively, without thinking, and then feels her stomach bottom out when his hand reaches up to gently grasp her chin between his thumb and index finger. He leans in close, until there’s only a whisper of space separating their mouths. “Because I can be very persuasive.”

There are a lot of supremely confusing chemical signals happening in Shadowheart’s brain right now, preventing her from thinking straight. She reminds herself that she doesn’t want this, not with Astarion. Because he is rude, and a dick, and also she hates him. It would be a really good idea to pull away from him, before she misses her chance to and he does something they can't take back.

Any second now, she’s going to move. 

Astarion must notice her internal conflict, because the look in his eyes is devilish when he taunts, “You can leave, if you’d like; I won’t stop you.” With how close his mouth is, she can feel the words as he speaks them, ghosting delicately over her lips, and a distressing shiver runs from her toes to the base of her skull.

“We despise each other,” she tries to protest, only it comes out instead as a mortifyingly petulant whine. 

“I know,” he murmurs, sounding positively delighted about it. “Isn’t it fantastic?”

And Shadowheart doesn’t know how to argue with that, because if she's being honest with herself it kind of is. If she's being more honest with herself, she hasn't even done a particularly good job of pretending she doesn't think so. And Astarion clearly already knows that she wants this, so the only thing denying it accomplishes is denying herself something she can apparently have.

That's so fucking irritating, she thinks, but she rolls her eyes and closes the distance between them anyway.

At first, it’s nothing more than the soft brush of his lips against hers, intentional and slow like he wants to savor it. His hand slips over her jaw and onto her neck, holding her to him with an uncharacteristic amount of care. It’s astonishingly sweet, almost tender, the way they move together. Until it isn’t, suddenly, so many things happening all at once that they blur together into a gauzy, surreal lace: Shadowheart making a noise of frustration and threading her fingers into his hair, Astarion’s cool tongue probing at the seam of her lips and slipping into her mouth, a flurry of movement that culminates in her straddling him.

It feels like his hands are everywhere, pulling her closer and stroking her back and massaging the skin of her hips. She makes a needy little noise into his mouth, and he swallows it then gives it back to her in a different octave. How his tongue slides against hers is nothing short of filthy, and she thinks she ought to be put off by the temperature difference, by the fact that there’s no way to pretend he’s alive, but she isn’t. It’s novel and intoxicating, sending chills running through her. He kisses her like he’s trying to prove something, and Shadowheart doesn’t even care; she will gladly tell him how right he was later and put up with his obnoxious, inflated ego if it means he’ll keep touching her.

He maneuvers her until she’s firmly seated in his lap, and she gasps as she feels the hard length of him through his trousers. Her hips twitch of their own accord in a desperate plea for friction, instinctually rubbing him against where she's already throbbing and hungry. Astarion groans, bucking against her as much as he can in this position. Using his grasp on her waist, he drives her body down to meet his shallow thrusts, and Shadowheart takes the hint and starts grinding against him. Each time she rocks her hips, it sends white-hot bursts of pleasure straight to the core of her. And gods, she’s so fucking easy, because she thinks she could probably get off like this.

Something about the way that idea spins around in her head feels off, and it takes her a second to realize why: she might begrudgingly accept now that she wants this, but given what he’d shown her she doesn’t understand why he would. Once again, it feels like she’s missing something, or like even if she has all the pieces she’s still putting them together wrong. Then it hits her that she knows how badly he wants to make Tav happy, that maybe he initiated this whole arrangement so she wouldn't be forced to choose. It adds up too well for Shadowheart to be comfortable dismissing it without knowing for sure, so she stills the movement of her hips. The thought of him doing this for any reason other than out of sincere desire makes her feel ill, makes her feel like she just sank to the icy bottom of the Chionthar.

“Wait, wait, stop,” Shadowheart mutters against his mouth. Immediately, he does, allowing her to put some distance between them. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Noted,” Astarion says, too cavalier, and his eyes are half-lidded as he stares at her mouth. “Is that all, then? Can we get back to dry humping?”

“Astarion, I’m serious,” she insists, annoyed at him for being deliberately obtuse about something so important. It’s good to be reminded, she supposes, of why she didn’t want to admit to liking him.

“So am I,” he says, and before she can say anything or try to climb off his lap, Shadowheart senses the intimate pulse of the tadpole connecting them. He doesn’t show her anything specific, merely allows his feelings to bleed through to her. Which is an excellent strategy, she thinks, because what he’s feeling is a frankly devastating amount of lust. 

Astarion doesn’t say anything about it, but Shadowheart can draw her own conclusions about what this means he must feel about her. Well, theoretically she can; at the moment she’s too preoccupied with sating her bone-deep hunger to think about anything else.

“Happy now?” he asks, parroting his question from earlier.

“Yeah,” Shadowheart replies breathlessly. She thinks back to how intense it was earlier, with their emotions echoing in a loop across the connection. They hadn’t even been touching, then—how much better could it get, now that they are?

There’s only one way to find out, and she really, really wants to find out. So she lets Astarion into her mind, grabbing his face in both hands and crashing their mouths together, hot and messy.

Oh, she thinks as her tongue teases his soft palate and she feels the tickle of it in her own mouth, we might be geniuses for this.

The only way Shadowheart can think to describe the sensation is that it's utterly all-consuming. She can taste the mania in how Astarion clutches her to him, needing her as close as possible and then closer still, because every point of contact between their bodies is so electric, so alive. There’s a phantom tingle in her scalp as she gets her hands in his stupid, perfect hair and tugs; a similar dull sting when she nips his bottom lip. It’s not one-for-one, more like the shadow of a feeling, but it’s enough to spur them both into a frenzy within a matter of seconds. One of his hands slips under the hem of her top, his cool fingers a welcome reprieve against the feverish skin of her waist, contrasting with her awareness of how warm she feels to him, the paradox of feeling both simultaneously wracking her frame with a shudder.

Gods, they must look like animals right now. Probably sound like them, too, the moans falling from their mouths obscene and much too loud. They’re not that far away from camp, she thinks. It's not impossible that someone will catch them in the act.

Shadowheart doesn’t care—couldn’t conceivably care—when rutting against Astarion is fucking rapturous like this, the sort of phenomenon that poets could spend their whole lives trying to capture in pretty words and nonetheless come up short. There’s a rhapsodic harmony in the way their bodies writhe, weaving together in effortless synchronicity. She moves atop him like she’s honing a knife, practiced and precise, sharpening herself into a savage edge. Little white pinpricks of light dance behind her eyes with every thrust, and she’s worried they're going to exhaust themselves before he’s even inside her. That can’t happen, she thinks, with so many wicked deeds for them to explore like this.

Astarion seems to agree, guiding her to lie on the ground and pulling his shirt over his head in a smooth motion. Shadowheart very much approves of this plan, and she scrambles to disrobe as fast as she is physically able and watches him do the same. They manage the task impressively quickly, and the second they're both naked she tries to pull him on top of her, needing contact, needing to feel his skin against hers. Astarion doesn’t let her, halting once he’s hovering a scant distance above her, because he’s evil, because he’s a miserable excuse for a man. Shadowheart hates him so much and abhors him and also detests him, because she lets out a whine so thin and treble at his denial that hearing it makes her want to die.

Patience must not be a virtue the Sharran church teaches, hmm? Astarion smirks, so infuriatingly arrogant, and then travels down her body to nestle between her thighs.

Shadowheart intends to respond with something caustic and incisive, but all that comes out is slurred jumble of her repeating IhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyouIhateyou, which is more than a bit degrading.

Flatterer, Astarion responds, and she can sense how pleased he is, though whether it’s at her or himself is unclear. He spreads her thighs and brings his face close enough that she can feel his breath on her sensitive flesh, knowing he must be doing it to tease her because he has no need for oxygen. She doesn't mind, because it’s strange and wonderful that it’s slightly colder than the air around them. She squirms at the novel feeling, biting her lip to try to smother the sound she makes. You’ll have to forgive me for doing you the great disservice of going down on you first, but I’d rather like to see what this feels like. His tongue is on her before the thought is even finished, and Shadowheart blesses the efficiency of telepathy for not having to wait a second longer than necessary for this.

Because, hells, this is so good, so blindingly good, and it’s not even because of the bond. It’s seductive that there’s the ghost of her own taste in her mouth, and Shadowheart loves feeling how much he gets off on doing this to her. But the way he sets her nerves alight, until she feels like she’s burning alive, her whole body engulfed in scorching hot bliss, is entirely down to how skillfully he caresses her clit with his tongue.

She’s whimpering and wracked with feeble tremors, her hands fisted in his hair too roughly, and Astarion growls into her cunt like he’s starving for her. The closer she gets, the more noises he makes, his hands shaking where they hold her thighs apart. Shadowheart grinds against his face, chasing her release, and she’s reminded again of being on the Tyrrans’ roof, of standing on a precipice and the weightlessness of freefall. Back then, the brutal impact had knocked her unconscious so fast she barely felt it. Now, though, Shadowheart surmises how intense it must have been, every single piece of her splintering apart at his touch as she’s sent crashing gloriously over the edge.

When she comes back to her senses, shuddery aftershocks still pulsing in her core, Astarion’s hand is covering her mouth. Shadowheart very much does not want to imagine how loud she must have been for him to feel the need. His eyes are wild as he looks at her for a moment before slotting his mouth to hers, all teeth and tongue like a feral, rabid thing. Shadowheart moans as she tastes herself on him for real, so deliriously erotic. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she digs her heels into his ass to force their bodies together, and quivers at the sensation of him pulsing thick and hard against her hip.

Now might be a good time to fuck me, Shadowheart goads, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and biting it. If you keep taking your sweet time, the ceremorphosis will come before you do.

Intriguing proposition, Astarion responds, though her mind being flooded with his desire belies the pretense of nonchalance. Even without the bond, the way he kisses her so ferociously, like he’s trying to devour her whole, would tell Shadowheart how badly he craves her. If we’re enterprising, we might be able to find a use for the tentacles.

Seems doubtful, Shadowheart says, and her thighs cradle his hips as she rubs herself against him, spreading sticky-hot wetness between them and making him groan. If you were enterprising you would already be inside me.

An excellent point, he concedes, and smoothly lines himself up with her entrance. Even just the slide of the head of his cock against her is phenomenal; she’s still oversensitive from her orgasm, and every time he nudges her clit it sends sparks shooting low in her belly. Then he’s burying himself inside her, ruthless and rough like he can’t help himself, and she's so extremely grateful for that because it's exactly what she needs from him, what she aches for.

It’s such a singular feat of pleasure—the delicious stretch of him splitting her in half and the empathic echo of her tight, wet heat squeezing Astarion’s cock, fucking and being fucked at the same time—that Shadowheart comes again, voice hoarse as she cries out. Once he’s seated inside her, he doesn’t move for a long while, trembling and struggling to hold himself up against the sheer, overwhelming ecstasy.

They stay suspended like that until Astarion collects himself again, overcome with a profound depth of feeling and staring into each other’s eyes like this is something other than what it is. It terrifies her, or maybe it terrifies him, or maybe they’re just both the exact same type of coward. Then Astarion shifts, dragging his cock out of her so slowly that it’s torturous, but then he’s fucking her for real, like he means it, until she can’t remember what it is to fear anything.

Shadowheart wonders how it would feel if he bit her now. She’s suddenly desperate to know, desperate to taste her own blood in his mouth, desperate to finally see what it’s like to be full. Astarion’s eyes widen and his movement inside her stutters as he senses it, unable to suppress the immediate, suffocating rush of hope he feels at the prospect.

In a parallel universe where they weren’t connected, where they weren’t both so strung out and shaking, she’d make him beg for it. Maybe someday she will. As it stands, she can’t imagine hearing him say it would come anywhere close to the rush of enveloping his agonizing need in her psyche, hiding it somewhere secret and safe inside her so she never forgets how this feels.

It's not a decision, really, when Shadowheart bares her throat to Astarion. It's mostly just inevitable.

His teeth pierce the skin of her neck and she’s cold, numb, helpless; but her mouth is searing hot, warmed by the borrowed sensation of her blood beginning to coat his tongue. She feels lightheaded, her vision swimmy as he drinks from her; it’s also invigorating, like she could do anything, like she is never going to die.

She remembers overhearing the conversation where he speculated about how their party members would taste, remembers that the suggestions were more abstract and metaphorical than she'd have thought, but it doesn't prepare her for the reality of it. Because to Astarion, Shadowheart tastes like the night sky when it’s full of stars, the vast emptiness of space as well as all that it contains within it. The gravity of it astounds her, and maybe this is why he so badly wants to drink from thinking creatures now that he has the option, because the way it explodes over her is like entire galaxies being created and destroyed on her tongue.

Shadowheart wonders if this is how she'd taste to any vampire, or if it's unique to Astarion. She hopes it's the latter, hopes this experience is theirs and theirs alone.

The way they rut together now is utterly graceless, lacking in any sort of rhythm or finesse, both of them too far gone for it to be anything but. It doesn’t matter, because every thrust hits her like a suckerpunch. The cacophony of sentiments and sensations is constantly intensifying, eclipsing everything except the points where their bodies collide. Another orgasm violently tears out of her—through her intestines and ripped straight from her throat in the form of a broken sob. The sensation of it pushes Astarion over the edge, too, and the two of them are twitching and convulsing in one another’s arms through the staggering, sublime euphoria of it. For a moment she’s not sure if they’re coming or if the world is just shattering underneath them, the impending apocalypse already upon them. It feels like the world must be ending. It feels like she finally understands entropy.

Unable to support himself any longer, Astarion collapses on top of her. Wordlessly, Shadowheart wraps her arms around him, and he threads one of his legs between hers, the two of them entwining their bodies like a braid of limbs as they shiver and bask in the afterglow. She strokes his back absentmindedly while they regain their composure (and she’ll need to get a better look, later, at the raised scars she feels all over it). It’s the least she can do, she thinks; this was easily the best sex Shadowheart has ever had, nothing else even approaching the experience. Which she can never, ever tell him, because the effect of that on his ego would be catastrophic.

“Too late,” Astarion says aloud, muffled and amused against her chest, “and you’re welcome.”

Instantly, Shadowheart severs the bond between them. Astarion huffs out a breathless laugh at her expense.

“So that’s a no on telepathic pillow talk, then?”

“Shut up,” she grumbles, though she doesn’t stop petting his back. “I already regret this.”

He doesn’t need to be in her head to know that’s a lie.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, cleric,” Astarion says, and she hates how much gleeful mischief she hears in his voice. “It was very selfless of you, doing all this for Tav.”

Shadowheart groans in vexation and contemplates whether a murder suicide would doom the rest of their party to calamari-dom. “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, like he’s humoring a small child.

“When we get back I’m going to tell everyone you attacked me,” she says, the threat audibly hollow, especially as she’s made no move to get out from under him. “I’ll use the bite mark as proof.”

“Be my guest,” Astarion teases. “But if you do, I’ll have no choice but to exonerate myself. How fortunate that I have a means of showing them precisely what happened.”

“I hate you.”

“Though I can’t imagine them not figuring it out anyway, with your lovely braid all tousled and coming undone,” he continues, sighing wistfully. “Not to mention how we positively reek of sex.”

Oh, gods, she hadn’t thought about that. Everyone is going to know. Tav is going to know.

“Well, Astarion, this has been fun,” Shadowheart says, “but if it’s all the same to you, I think I am going to let the river take me now.”

“Your prerogative, I suppose,” Astarion says, then lifts up his head to look at her, his eyes dark and intent. “Though if you’re looking to be taken, I think there are better options than the river on the table.”

“Oh?” she mutters, and it’s embarrassing how quickly heat starts gathering in her belly again.

He grins roguishly at her. “You’re an inquisitive sort, cleric; aren’t you even a little bit curious what it’s like without the tadpole?”

“Not really,” Shadowheart says, waiting just enough of a beat for Astarion to look dejected before she smirks, “but perhaps I could be persuaded.”

“That was mean,” he chastises. He smiles at her, though, small but genuine. Her chest hurts, looking at it.

“It was,” she agrees. “You like it when I’m mean.”

“I do,” Astarion says. “Of course, it wouldn’t kill you to appreciate me a bit more. After all, I just gave you the best sex of your life—”

“Shut up, Astarion,” Shadowheart interrupts, bringing her face near his until they’re naught but centimeters apart. “You’re prettier when you’re silent.”

And Astarion can’t really argue with that, so he kisses her instead.

When they arrive back at camp, having smoothed their hair and straightened their clothes, Tav is chatting with Karlach by the fire. It seems most everyone else has already gone to bed, which makes Shadowheart wonder how long they were gone for.

Karlach notices their approach and bids Tav a cheerful goodnight, whistling innocently on the walk back to her own tent.

Disgraceful, really, that the rogue and the trickery cleric failed so abysmally at subtlety. In her defense, though, she doesn’t think Astarion was really trying; her effort was doomed from the start.

“Welcome back,” Tav smiles kindly at them, gesturing for them to sit. She shifts over to make room for them, grimacing a bit as she does, presumably aggravating one of her bruises. The thought of them underneath her clothes, still in the process of darkening, fills Shadowheart with startling heat.

She genuinely doesn’t know how she still has it in her to get turned on at this point.

“Seems like you two have sorted out your issues,” Tav says wryly. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion sighs, sounding terribly put upon. “Shadowheart has so very many of them; I don’t think we can solve them all overnight.” She wants to be annoyed at him for the cheek, but she’s too preoccupied with him actually calling her by her name for once. It’s nice, she thinks. It feels nice.

(Although, by the end of their lengthy encounter, she’d relented to being called ‘pet.’ A tiny, private part of her enjoyed how it made her feel cared for and cherished, and Shadowheart intends to take that to the grave. Even if Astarion probably already knows, the bastard.)

“Good thing we have more nights ahead of us, then,” Tav grins. “Maybe not a lot of them, though, so we should really get started on unloading that baggage.”

“Actually, I've found she prefers her baggage with the load inside, as it were,” Astarion says, as though unaware that Shadowheart can hurt him with necrotic magic at any moment.

“If we’re going to use my emotional issues as a euphemism for sex, can we at least—you know what, no, just please immediately stop doing that,” Shadowheart says with no small degree of exasperation. “You’re going to give me a complex.”

Tav breaks into peals of throaty laughter, the sound of it warming her from the inside like good firewine.

Shadowheart has so much affection for her that she aches with it. The fond glint in Astarion’s eye as he watches her giggle into her palms suggests he feels much the same.

“So you’re alright with this?” she asks softly, pretty sure but needing to be certain. “Whatever ‘this’ is, I mean.”

“Overjoyed, more like,” Tav corrects, looking up from her hands to smirk at Shadowheart. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to propose a threesome for days now. I had charts and schemes and everything.”

“Glad that’s settled, then,” Astarion says cheerfully. “A pity all that hard work was wasted, though—I’ve always wanted to be the subject of a good scheme.”

“The charts are obsolete, yeah,” Tav concedes, “but most of the schemes could be repurposed, on account of how they were just elaborate sexual fantasies.”

“My favorite kind of scheme,” he smiles.

Something giddy and content blooms in Shadowheart’s chest as she says, “Why, isn't that a strange coincidence. It happens to be mine as well.”

“What are the odds,” Tav says, breathy and sweet. “You know, I have them written down; if you’d like, we can all go back to my tent and look them over together.”

Shadowheart, for one, thinks it’s a spectacular plan.

[wormtime123]

AAAAAAAAAAAA DRAMATURGY EPILOGUEEE

I love the lengthy wrap up of so many loose ends, the slow mend of things torn and that utter contentment to be found with people just existing right there. This is going to be my go-to comfort fic for found family to re-read over and over and over and over

Now I wanna pick your brain on all the bits; worldwalker shapeshifting Gem? Its so coool I love it. When did you decide to give her and others (Scar, Cub?) powers? What did Cub actually do at the end of Grumbot there? What was your favorite part of the epilogue to write? And which part was the most emotional for you? (tough question, I know I can't choose between Pearl & Gem's or Pearl & Grian's conversations)

WHEW dear god thank you for presenting me a pass to go insane on a silver platter. i’ll be putting my answers under a read more so i don’t explode people’s feeds with nonsense

most of the magic decisions made are based ~mostly in what i know about canon, i just ended up filling in some blanks and playing around with what’s already there! i’m endlessly fascinated by gem’s dimension-hopping (empires isn’t addressed in dramaturgy, but i operate on everything she said about her powers in e2) and i think the idea that she can open portals at will and freely travel between worlds/universes in a way that other players can’t is amazing. then the shapeshifting just made sense to me in how she changes her appearance around to fit into whatever character she wants to take on in each world.

cub and scar lore i’m a lot less familiar with since i only know of certain clips about their vex deal, but i kind of treat it similarly to gem in that i assume they can shift their forms around (ie. how often scar changes to fit a character like gem does, cub going from old man to s8 e-boy skin) and have a peculiar knowledge around portals (ie. the big dig, scar using his “wizard portals” to travel between seasons.) however i think gem has a different kind of expertise working with portals with how often she dimension-hops, so those two were kind of just doing unethical science at the rift to see what stuck lol.

the rift on its own is its whole thing in my Fanon Brain, but i have a strong image of it as a living, breathing entity that sucks things in and spits them back out in other spaces indiscriminately. dramaturgy scar describes it as hungry and i think that’s about as apt as it gets. stuck perpetually wanting to consume yet unable to hold anything in. then one of my biggest plot problems to solve was making the story line up with grian’s lore, aka grumbot (prime) getting tossed in the canon timeline ominously hinting at the other grian’s crimes, so i asked myself how dramaturgy hermits could have weaponized the rift and that’s where i landed! i admittedly don’t have a specific answer to how cub would have aggravated the rift enough to make it go hogwild in chapter 10, but i personally just imagined him figuring it out at one point or another by throwing shit in until something worked

dear god this is already getting long but epilogue!!! my answer for favorite scene to write is a little anticlimactic but i love writing all the evo flashbacks. if you couldn’t tell i am completely evo enamored. i love the strange, off-putting, nostalgic innocence of “something unpreventable and life-altering is about to happen and they Don’t Know.” i love them working together to get to the stronghold and entering the end portal thinking it’s going to be another task of teamwork as always and then just *silence* on the other end. amazing incredible tragic love it

(also on that note i loved writing the scene atop the mansion. just one last hermit acting entirely too normal while subjecting pearl to cursed knowledge before we go)

and lastly for most emotional to write i’d definitely say the scene at the hobbit hole! i’ve had that one as well as the sleepover at impulse’s in the back of my mind for so long i’m just glad i got it out. getting there was like the end of an era for me. everything with grian and pearl finally being back together but still not quite on the same page. i think pearl seeing grian so taken aback in the face of the tangible proof of his actions and mumbo’s feelings was the straw that broke the camel’s back, because at this point in the story pearl’s finally willing to see herself in mumbo’s situation. she’s finally realizing how badly she needs this specific closure but grian’s too busy going ???my actions… have consequences? i can’t just run off into the night with no negative impact on the people around me?

(which is of course also a matter of a warped sense of self-image and understanding emotions, but grian will go on murder sprees in the 3rd life time loop box before exercising an ounce of self-reflection, more at 11.) and only after seeing pearl shaking like a sad wet chihuahua clutching this random notebook of his like it’s the sacred texts does he really start to grasp how genuinely bad it’s been for her. like that would have been obvious to anyone who’s normal but whatever. i love studying skyblings like bugs

ANYWAYS. i hope you enjoyed this thought dump and thank you again for the ask i owe you my life

[planckstorytime]

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth: A World Beyond Anger

https://planckstorytime.wordpress.com/

Hello! This is an essay analyzing the themes of FF7 Rebirth through a psychoanalytic lens, while also critiquing the execution of the game's writing. Moreover, it's a personal reflection on my journey with the game, and the complicated feelings that got tangled up with that. Please give it a read if you have the chance.

Previous articles: FF7: Reflections of a Traumatized Generation (2020)

I Need to Talk about Final Fantasy VII Remake or My Head Will Explode (2021)

Excerpt: “A confluence of worlds… and emotions. Loss, chief among them. It engulfs fleeting moments of joy, transforming them into rage, sadness, hatred.”

– Sephiroth, Final Fantasy VII Rebirth (2024), speaking to me, specifically

*The following contains spoilers*

I. Memoirs of a Neurotic Fan

Hoo boy.

It’s been a long four years since Final Fantasy VII Remake (2020) released, and I don’t think I have ever before devoted so much emotional energy to deciphering how I truly feel about a piece of media. Initially, I enjoyed my return to a reimagined world of lovable characters, but unfavorable writing choices and a mind-boggling finale left me feeling torn. Despite striving to maintain an optimistic outlook at the end of my previous essay, my perspective on the game only darkened as the years wore on. Developer interviews constantly oscillated back and forth as to whether they would remain faithful to the original FF7 (1997), or, as the ending of Remake indicated, strike out on a brand new “unknown journey.” That’s not to mention the downright radioactive discourse among fans, combined with the litany of harassing messages I received for the most tepid criticisms.

Eventually, I grew to despise Remake. The positive emotions and ecstatic love I had for parts of the game sunk beneath my waves of ire toward its creative divergences – as well as what they represented to me. And I fed that hate. I hated its ponderous navel-gazing about the nature of adaptations. I hated its self-congratulatory insinuation that asinine story decisions like the “Baby’s-First-Metacommentary” Whispers and the resurrection of multiple deceased characters somehow constituted “bold” storytelling. I hated the uncritical portion of certain audiences that fell for this illusion of transgressive storytelling, all the while embracing a game that went out of its way to barrage the player with fanservice and puerile pandering. I hated the frequent argumentation that “it’s not a remake, it’s a sequel” was somehow seen as a mitigating factor, when it actually further aggravated my problems with it. I hated Remake’s emphasis on novelty, its subversion without meaning, its arrogant alienation of new audiences that wanted to experience a classic story, and its implicitly cynical view on thousands of years of storytelling tradition for the sake of “surprise.” To quote director Naoki Hamaguchi:

“When you try to remake a game and make it an entertaining game, having the exact storyline as the original would lack the excitement and surprise. I was looking for an essence to add to the story, and Zack was chosen to be this essence because in the original, there wasn’t much story about Zack, but in Crisis Core, he had a huge character development.”

But that lonely ember of hope persisted; after all, I had loved Remake at one point. I hated that stubborn attachment most of all. By the time Rebirth was fully unveiled, I wanted only one thing from it: to repulse me to my core, to be something so egregiously offensive to my sensibilities that I could never associate the project with anything positive again. “Perhaps if things get stupid enough,” I thought, “others will also see the emperor’s nakedness.” Pain and despair morphed into objects of desire for me. They were my keys to escaping these contradictory feelings of love and hate.

As you can see, I am quite well-adjusted and able to engage with art in a healthy way.

Continue Reading

[writingpei]

wicked games (l.m.) - chapter nine

previous chapter series masterlist next chapter

pairing: lee minho x freader genre: academic rivals to lovers wc: 2.7k

welcome to the jungle

“what happened this time?” yongbok asks as soon as minho arrives at his house.

“ah, you know” he says, giving his characteristic smirk as if nothing ever affects him, as if he is on a pedestal that no one can reach. “the usual, family dinner”

yongbok sighs and makes room for minho to enter the house.

“glad you're here actually,” he says. “i stayed until late at school and saw that they were putting up a sign at the entrance”

“um” minho says, with interest. “and what did the sign say?”

spots open for candidacy for president of the student council of haneul high school. the elections will take place next week, right after lunch. sign up at the school office.

y/n stares at the big letters the next morning, paralised. she was already thinking about her campaign strategies, and couldn't wait to visit sooyoung's room to apply.

“daydreaming, huh?” the aggravating voice of no other than lee minho reaches her ears, and it's impossible to stop herself from rolling her eyes as soon as she feels his presence at her side, arm almost touching hers.

“don't start, today i'm the one in a good mood” she says, walking in the opposite direction of him in an attempt to escape the clutches of his answers, which for some unknown reason, she can't put out the fire burning inside her chest and ignore him, always looking to win him in every possible situation.

“are you heading to sooyoung? let me join you” his voice doesn't waver from its humorous tone, and when y/n least expects it, minho snakes his arm around hers, pulling her close and walking beside her. weird heat rises through y/n's body, a wave of embarrassment burns her face and she can only shove him away.

“hands off, minho” she says, fixing her hair and walking again, faster than before. "as if..."

he just smiles at her, back freshly bumped against the wall cupboards and good humor intact.

“off to the races, y/n” she hears him humming behind her, but she just flies down the hall in flight, a bubbling sense of anger at minho's audacity, the audacity he had in thinking he could touch her.

as soon as he arrives at the office, y/n closes the door behind her as if she found shelter, a sigh of relief coming out. minho had been on her tail for the last few weeks and she couldn't understand why. she hated seeing him normally in years past, but something had changed this one, because for some reason she couldn't see herself being away from him for too long, as if he was keeping her within hands reach.

and minho knew he was acting different, something hovering over the air around that got him bewitched and turned him into a puppet unconsciously. perhaps the idea that this was his last year to enjoy the inherent rivalry between him and the girl gave him a special motivation to follow her traces through the corridors, look for her in every room of the school he went to and rehearse phrases and practice scenarios for make her look at him, see him, pay attention to him in the midst of so much blind hatred, a heat that burned their chests when they were together, a bomb ready to explode at any moment.

therefore, he wouldn't let go of any chance to make her furious, a feeling that he took pride in thinking he was the only one that could put her in that state.

that's why he was going from class to class at recess, handing out flyers with his campaign proposals for student council president.

“there you have it, ladies” he says, handing several sheets to a circle of girls smiling at him, who keep tucking their hair behind their ears, looking at him carefully and giggling delicately, a forced smile showing their teeth.

“we will vote for you, minho!” one of them said excitedly.

“thanks for your support” he gives a wink and the charming smile he always uses to get what he wants.

“disgusting…” he hears a whisper behind him and his attention to the group of girls was immediately taken by the one who was walking along the length of the corridor with her own flyers on her arm.

"disgusting?" he wasted no time in running to her side and following her. traumatized by what happened the last time he did this, y/n just steps to the side in order to establish some distance between their bodies, but minho wasn't having any of it, moving closer again. “who do you think is disgusting, y/n?”

"i don't know" she says, rolling her eyes and hugging the flyers to her chest. “guess”

minho just laughs. “you know” he says smiling “you should bottle up all that hate you're feeling towards me and save it for the day i win the election”

“you're pretty confident, aren't you? promised free kisses to all the girls who voted for you?”

“no, but that's a good idea…” y/n just ignores his antics, walking faster to see if he'll fall behind, but he quickens his pace as well. “are you handing out your flyers?”

"are you blind?"

“do you know how to hold a conversation?”

“why would i hold a conversation with you all of a sudden? if you can get off my back, i am busy right now” she finally snaps.

"busy? since when do you do things other than glare at others and be nasty?” he asks smiling.

“to your surprise, i'm going to help someone” not that y/n had to give minho any justification, but the idea of ​​wiping the smile off his face was incredibly seductive.

“and who would that be?” she feels something approaching in her direction, and when she looks to the side she sees his face much closer than it should be, and by instinct she stops walking and takes a step back, moving away.

“the person i'm tutoring. what is wrong with you, huh? forgot what personal space means these days?” anger rises to her face, leaving a reddish streak in its wake.

“sorry, sorry” he walks away putting his hands up like he's surrendering, but soon a sly smile blooms on his lips and he brings his face close to hers again as if he never left there in the first place. "why? are you getting mad?”

her gaze burns into his eyes with a brutal force coming from an overwhelming feeling that scorched inside her. minho is unfazed, patiently waiting for the comeback she would make that would sting like a slap in the face, but he didn't care, he couldn't blink, couldn't pay attention to anything but her face, watching for any shadow of reaction that could appear on her skin. the delay, however, was longer than usual.

“minho” she says carefully.

“yes?”

“get away from my face” once again, calmness doesn't escape her voice and minho just frowns in confusion. that tone was never used with him for more than 10 seconds, and the lack of responsiveness destabilized some foundations that kept minho on his feet.

she simply shoves him in the chest to get him out of her way and flies down the halls, but this time he doesn't follow her, he just stops and looks at the flyers in his hands trying to decipher her strange behavior.

minho has been weird these days, but y/n has been too, a wave of confusion that spreads and runs through both of them, presenting faces of themselves to each other that they didn't know before.

but minho isn't the only one to notice that y/n is being weird. inside the library, hyunjin looks at her intently. she was never very talkative with him, but now she isn't making any snarky comments, doesn't look him in the eye defiantly, and doesn't seem to be irritated with spending her time with him.

he has no idea what could have happened but, frankly, he doesn't feel like he wants to know either.

what he thinks to do, however, is bring up the subject. even if she reverts to normal and give him those hostile looks, he at least wants to get her out of her vegetative state. his eyes scan the table where they meet every week, which he felt he could already call his own. when his eyes fall on the inconspicuous stack of pamphlets in the corner of the table, he doesn't hesitate to grab half the sheets.

"hey!" she seems taken aback by his sudden act out of nowhere. “what the hell are you doing?”

“picking it up to hand out in the boy's locker room, duh” hyunjin replies like it's obvious, but the uncertainty doesn't leave her face. “i will do electoral propaganda for you, uh, of course”

“but…” she starts, turning skeptical. "why would you do that?"

“because you're giving me all of your friday afternoons to save my life, that's why” he throws the flyers into his sports bag.

“you are paying me”

“oh come on” he laughs. “don't act like you're not the type of person who wouldn't just say no if you didn't want to”

she shrugs but leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and watching him like a hawk. one point for hyunjin, she turned to look at him coldly, leaving her blank face behind.

“come oooon” he starts, also leaning back in his chair. “you help me and i'll help you, just returning the favor” and that's exactly what he does.

the floor of the corridors - and now the boy's locker room - began to be filled with advertisements, flyers and promises. the days pass quickly and y/n's efforts to avoid minho grow stronger than ever. her disdain for the boy helps her advertise her campaign, and when polling day arrives she is a nervous wreck. the competition between the two was so fierce that the other people who applied dropped out of the competition, turning the haneul high school's floor into the battleground between the two.

she knew she was not a likeable person, that her presence at school was feared more than anything else, but she preferred to believe that her peers would trust her responsibility to the school and would give her their vote. at least that's what she wanted to believe.

as she walked to the canteen where the boxes to put the votes were, she sees minho coming towards her smiling at everyone around, receiving slaps on the back and shy compliments. he didn't see her, which is why she ducks into the first room on her left, closing the door quickly and taking a deep breath.

she hears a clearing of her throat behind her and finally looks around. she definitely couldn't be here.

“i think you got lost” a boy tells her, and she thanks him for covering the bathroom with his torso in front of her. “the women's bathroom is next door”

she takes a deep breath, not quite able to believe what was happening, shame screaming inside her chest.

“yes, yes, i'm sorry,” she says, turning once more towards the door, but the idea of ​​walking out of the bathroom and running into minho was frankly worse than staying a few more seconds inside the men's room. the boy looks at her confused, waiting for her to leave, but her hand just freezes on top of the doorknob.

“you… aren't you going to leave?” he asks behind his back.

“um yeah just a few more seconds” she wants to die for saying it.

"what-"

“y/n?” a voice comes from behind him, and she turns in surprise. hyunjin's curious face appears over the other boy's shoulder, and he smirks in confusion. "what are you doing here?"

“i… i got confused” she answers softly.

“she doesn't want to leave” the boy says.

“why don't you want to leave?” hyunjin asks.

"okay! i'll leave” she exclaims. minho should be down the hall by now, so she just takes a deep breath and opens the door.

however, the face of the person she least wanted to see is the only thing that appears in her field of vision. minho was in front of the door, hand reaching out to open the doorknob and as soon as their eyes collide, he takes a step back as the surprise hits his body.

"what…?" he asks, shocked, but she's definitely not going to pay attention. she pokes her head outside and looks around to see if anyone is watching, and when she notices the coast is clear, she runs outside and away.

“hey!” minho calls from behind her. “what the fuck?!”

“y/n!” hyunjin leaves the bathroom too and runs to her, passing by minho who is static trying to understand the scene that had happened in front of him.

“never” she turns to hyunjin who stops abruptly in his walk, almost falling to the ground. “never talk about this to anyone, hyunjin” she thrusts her index finger into his chest menacingly.

“my lips are sealed” he pretends to lock a padlock in his mouth and throw the key away. “i just wanted to tell you that i convinced everyone on the basketball team to vote for you today”

“oh… thank you” the words slide strangely through her tongue, due to the lack of use they have for her. “let’s see if it counted after lunch”

the hours pass like years, a time that drags on until it can no longer, an endless wait. y/n tries to focus on the lectures as usual, doing the math equations and reading the paragraphs but her mind is elsewhere. when the bell finally rings fear runs up her spine. she stresses about going onstage and having her ego destroyed by minho in a humiliating defeat.

as she climbs onto the stage of the auditorium, she runs her eyes over everyone who was sitting in the chairs, deeply wishing that all her efforts had been relevant. minho was late. everyone was already sitting, waiting, but he didn't show up. beside her in the middle of the stage, the principal was becoming visibly agitated, adjusting his glasses every second, checking his watch incessantly.

when the auditorium door opens, minho appears running towards the stage, quickly climbing the stairs. up on stage, he looks directly at her for a moment, panting. his blazer was lost, remaining only the white shirt under the blue wool vest with the sleeves pulled back, revealing his forearms. he had run a lot to be here, god knows what he was doing. he stands opposite the principal, who just gives him a sharp look.

“welcome, haneul high school students” he starts the speech into the microphone in front of him. “we gather here today to institutionalize the power of your choices. you voted between these two great students, gave them your confidence and then chosen one that will be the next student council president of this school”

a round of applause erupted across the large auditorium. the lights on stage were blinding, and y/n clasped her own hands together tightly trying to contain her anticipation.

sooyoung, however, appears walking up the stairs to the stage quickly and y/n frowns at her presence. she gives an apologetic smile to the students in the audience and walks over to the principal, whispering something lightly in his ear before disappearing through the stage curtains.

the director breaths shakingly and his hand slightly turns into a fist. whatever sooyoung told him, it wasn't good. for a second, he gives minho a strange look, but the boy just puts his hands behind his torso and looks up, a smile struggling not to appear on his lips.

“the student chosen by you…” he speaks again, adjusting his glasses that slipped by the bridge of his nose once again. “it's park y/n. a round of applause”

stay tuned for chapter 9! new chapters every sunday ☆

taglist: @liphglos @kiyoomimybeloved @lilactangerine @swiftlydirectioning @lethallyprotected (starting a taglist, if you want to be a part of it, send me an ask <3)

[restlesscrybaby]

Jack Horner x reader, like, Jack and reader are making out in his office and the head baker opens the door interrupting them (like they aren't doing anything yet but when they start they get caught)

Yes, that's a pretty silly ask, sorry kk

ITS NOT SILLY ITS JUICCYYY!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~ JACK HORNER SMUT HEADCANONS. ~

~~ CAUGHT RED-HANDED. ~~

× 'It's not what it looks like!' ×

☆ CONTENT WARNING: Smut. ☆

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Oh.. Passion, what a strong word...

Passion...

Hot breath against hot breath, his face close to yours.

He had placed you upon his oak desk, the feeling of the wood allowed you to know just where you were here...

He was sat in his chair, as he scooted it all the way up to be right up in your skin, as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

Ohh...

He wanted to eat you up, just to spit you back out whole again...

A smirk coiled upon his face, one of an evil bastards, as you could only watch. Waiting for his move. Feeling him against you.

A hand snaked forward, towards your hip. His fingers snaked around it, a firm clench from his fist as he held you there. The other hand placing itself upon the upper flesh of your thigh, as he slammed his plump lips into yours.

It was a sudden feeling of tongue and lip, but you couldn't help but kiss him back.

Your arm extend slightly, but it rested upon his shoulder, as your hand snaked towards the back of his head. Your fingers intertwining within locs of luscious purple, oh my god, you were going to explode with joy.

The taste of his lips with yours...

Oh god...

His tongue swiped towards your bottom lip, but, he didn't give you much time to realize what that meant. His tongue sliding towards the beautiful lips that he was craving so bad, to indulge in your taste more.

Oh, it gave you the advantage too.

But, he pulled his tongue out after a moment..

You took your time, you slipped away, you needed air. You were already going to die. But...

He didn't give you much time.

You could hear his aggravated grumble in his chest, you made him wait so you could breathe? Bah! What a sore loser!

But, you were quick to satisfy him.

God knows what would happen if you kept him waiting..

Especially with THAT bulge...

But, his hand that rested on your thigh placed itself upon the table, as he stood up only slightly. His palm soon easing towards your wrist, ushering it to his bulge.

To palm him.

Oh god. He wanted you to palm him?

But, you obeyed.

A small push towards his bulge, as he felt satisfaction with your movement.

...

"MR. HORNER, JERRY TRIED TOOOoh my god-" The head baker had busted in, screaming at the top of their lungs.

He pulled his lips away in a flash, a hiss escaping from between the soaked flesh,

"WHAT!? GET OUT, GO! GO!" He barked, as embarrassment flushed his face. Oooh! Now he was gonna have to kill his BEST head baker he's had yet! Yknow..

So they wouldn't say anything.

Yet, they stood, like a deer in headlights, before the frightening mound of a man.

"DON'T STARE AT ME, LEAVE, NOW, NOW!!"

And left they did.

They scampered out, practically stumbling over themselves, with a desperate pant. The door being closed behind them, in a desperate attempt.

It only shut just slightly, it was creaked just slightly...

Bah!

He knew he should've locked that.

I mean, he wouldn't mind someone watching, but-- it--

Ugh.

...

You dared to ask;

"You still in the mood?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

× '... It is. It is what it looks like.' ×

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SUREY THIS IS RUSHED this idea makes me run in a circle

[swanprincessodette]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ╔═════.✾. ════════╗‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ℂ𝕆ℕ𝕋𝕀ℕ𝕌𝕌𝕄

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎╚════════.✾. ═════╝

Odette stared down at her reflection wondering if the woman she saw looking back was truly the swan princess. She looked worn, malnourished, and filled with hopelessness. Unfortunately, this was nothing new. Swan Lake was her prison. And had been her cell for several years now. She used to count the days, but the scaly-faced man destroyed her counter and she didn’t have the will to make another one. The restless princess knew Swan Lake too well. She knew every single pebble out of place, and every wartorn debris lying on the ground showing its history. Some of the stones were even used as her bedframe or a dinner table set for two. It was her eternal home.

“Princess…” That slithering tone slipped into her senses sending a shiver down her spine. Rumplestiltskin never received even an acknowledgment. She continued to peer down at her reflection contemplating her next course of action. “Princess!” His tone darkened. It fills with aggravation. Despite the anger, Odette refused to even bat an eye. A single fingertip tapped the water letting it ripple. Between each movement was Odile coming more into the frame, gracing Odette with her presence by lurking over her shoulder.

At the moment, that demon was Odette’s only friend. “The imp is here. How tiresome” Odile’s voice chimed in. Odette sighed agreeing with the sentiment.

Without even time to react, a tug of her wrist collapsed her into the Dark Lord’s arms. The days she wished for warm embraces were only met with his chilling grasp. Her body lay limp and frozen against his disgusting frame. Several bony fingers brushed through her blonde strands.

“I know you can hear me. I made you a prisoner, not deaf. And here I thought you loved presents.” There were creaks between each word as if waiting for her response. A response that never came. “Do you want to see how your kingdom is doing? Just a tiny…little… glimpse?” Odette finally made a sound and it was a gulp, a lump of curiosity slipping down her throat.

“Hehehe! Yes yes, you do don’t you?”

“Hurry up, imp.”

“Oh, there it is! I missed your voice. How lovely! Even if it was only used to insult your giftmaster!”

“Just show me.”

With her arm still clutched tightly in his hand, he used the other to create a window against one of the monument walls. Through this window, Rothgarden's endless flowers and fauna came into view. Even some petals flew by giving her cheeks a tiny bit of color for once. Several people were collaborating to create the Autumn Festival. It had been years since she smelled the beautiful aromas of the festival's array of dishes, gazed upon exotic dances, and lip the script of traditional plays. All the cheers filled her heart. By the gods, she missed it all.

“They cannot see us, don’t worry. Stare all you’d like.” Rumplestiltskin pushed her closer to the window. Odette felt a sensation in her body she knew all too well–holding back tears so harshly her body began to shake. Expending even the smallest of droplets would provide the Imp with a sense of superiority. He wasn’t ignorant of her dilemma. The lack of emotions only benefited him. One day, those feelings she held in would explode and he’d be there to finally get what he’s always wanted. So, for now, he let her think she had the upper hand.

“Do you like it?” He said with a crooked smile. “Why… What is this for?” She turned to face him glaring into his golden hues. With that whimsical way of expressing himself, he waved his hands closing the window. “Every so often I will open this portal for you to observe your people. It could be in the early morning or the middle of the night. If you miss it even once, I will never let you view it again. If you do not touch the summoning circle imprinting your mark on it then it will go away forever.”

Odette’s heart sank. It meant she’d have to stay awake even longer than before or find a way to alert herself of its arrival. Panic painted her features and it brought a wider smile to the Imps face. “Or…” He extended a handout. “I will never close it just as long as you make a deal with me.” Everyone in the Enchanted Forest knew that making a deal with Rumplestiltskin meant throwing your life away. She was already suffering… would seeing her people flourish be good enough to continue to live a life of isolation? She lifts a shaky hand. He giggled with excitement. “What is the deal?” She questioned. Rumplestiltskin shook his eager hand. “That’s a secret. See your people once every day or lose a chance to reap the benefits of your torturous cycle of life.”

“Should I… Should I make a deal with the scaly-faced man?”

[theadventurerslog]

Discworld | Part 1

The Adventurer’s Log

Release Date: 1995

I love Discworld the book series by Terry Pratchett and have done so since I was 13 when I first discovered it by taking Soul Music out of the school library. I'm currently doing a chronological reread and figured I might as well go all in and play the games too while I'm at it. Well, the first two anyway. There are three games, well actually four. Apparently there was an interactive fiction game in 1986 for The Colour of Magic, but I know nothing more beyond that and never see it mentioned. (Have to say I am curious though). For purposes here, however, three games. The first two pull events from the books, while the third focuses on an original character in an original story and that's Discworld Noir, which I would love to try sometime but getting it to run looks like more of a hassle. So for now the first two games.

That said I don't know if I'll go straight to the second one after this one or have some other stuff in between. I'll see how I'm feeling and how things are looking as I already have plans for November and I may want some short stuff for October.

I watched a friend play the second game several years ago, but I don't remember much and I'm pretty sure we didn't do the first game. What I've played so far hasn't been familiar. I'm pretty sure this is a blind play-through and if it's not it may as well be.

As for the Discworld itself, if you don't know, it's a magical flat world resting on the backs of four elephants standing on the back of a giant turtle, the Great A'tuin, drifting through space. Reality tends to be...thin. Things have a tendency to slip through.

This first game pulls its general plot from Guards! Guards! which surrounds a brotherhood summoning an actual dragon to the city of Ankh-Morpork. Dragons at this point in time only exist as much smaller swamp dragons which are far less dangerous aside from having a tendency to explode. The book is the first book in the city watch arc. The game, however, uses the character Rincewind as the main protagonist. Rincewind is a wizard, or wizzard, of the Unseen University in Ankh-Morpork. He's actually terrible at magic, but in his heart, he's a wizard. So, clearly the progression of this plot is going to go completely differently. Which I am okay with and it's nice the game could be played by someone who's never read the books. And it's drawing inspiration without stomping all over its source material and making you wonder why they didn't do their own thing, so I'm okay with it. I just need to tamp down on my own nit-pickiness for smaller details. Inspired by, inspired by. While still being recognizable. Excuse me I may have some aggravations with a certain other...'adaptation but oh no not really'. If you know you know, if you don't, don't worry about it. Ahem.

The game opens with a shot of the Discworld and the Great A'Tuin.

Introducing the Discworld.

Then we get the summoning ritual:

Dragon! Dragon!

Dragon!

Ominous peeking through the wall. Dragon!

And I'm already wondering who may or may not be involved from the book. Like, is the Supreme Grand Master still there heading this up? Are they the same person? It's an interesting thing both knowing and not knowing the plot at all.

From here we're gifted a scene of an Ankh-Morpork street with Death waiting and a drunk ambling down the street.

That's Ankh-Morpork all right.

I'm not sure about Death's voice, but I'm also very used to Christopher Lee from the animated adaptations of Soul Music and Wyrd Sisters (and Christopher Lee, come on, just an unfair fight really) or Ian Richardson from the Hogfather movie adaptation. They did add some effects so he's still got some IMPACT though. Still some sense of speaking in caps. And he's not a main character here anyway. I wonder how much he will pop up... How many deaths will there be? Will Rincewind have a near-Death experience?

The drunk ran into him briefly and got an ominous see you soon. Which... Yeah. The drunk proceeded into an alley and was saved from a mugging by being fried by dragon fire.

With that grisly affair complete we move on to see the Unseen University.

I was given another scene of the Bursar speaking with the Archchancellor talking about the rumours of the dragon. The Bursar notes that dragons don't exist unless you believe in them. Belief is extremely important on the Disc. Nevertheless there seems to be one and it's the university's civic duty to do something about it, so he sends the Bursar off to fetch Rincewind. Do you hate Rincewind, Archchancellor, is that it?

A note about the Archchancellor. He seems to be meant to be Ridcully from the books, and by the point of Guards! Guards! he certainly was the Archchancellor and have been for several books. He hasn't felt very much like Ridcully at this point though and if it wasn't for an 'unhygienic' comment I'd be uncertain if it was him or not. The game just has him labelled as Arch chancellor so I'm sticking with that instead. Except making it the one word it's meant to be. Split in two words is driving me a little nuts.

A note about this whole intro: there's been a fly buzzing around every scene from the drunkard coming on screen, then it bothered Death and continued on through the Archchancellor and Bursar's conversation. I have no idea what to make of that if it's going to be relevant or what. Complete mystery. In some ways it feels like it's just a fun guide to follow as you move through the intro, but also... why?

And finally we move in to Rincewind being woken up by the Bursar banging on his door letting him know the Archchancellor wants to see him, and I was finally given control.

I had a few different things to examine, like the totally not-ominous shape outside to which Rincewind said:

"Yes - a mysterious shape, a sinister shape - a shape fraught with... shapeness.

It must be a plot element - otherwise there'd be a better label!"

I can't remember the exact label. I think it was something like 'mysterious shape' or was that exactly.

The wardrobe had no knob to open it with. Turns out I could have opened it then but I didn't have a handle on the controls yet. Sometimes... it pays to look at manuals! Something I did not do until a little later.

And on top of the wardrobe was the sleeping Luggage. The Luggage is also from the books. It's made of sapient pearwood and rage and will follow its owner everywhere and anywhere on its many legs. At least when it's not sleeping here anyway. I couldn't rouse it yet.

With my examinations complete and my seeming inability to do anything yet I left to go explore the university.

And got traumatized by stairs.

I mean it's a point and click. No manual movement here. You can't die. But the Sierra stair trauma is real, especially after King's Quest IV... After my little moment of gratitude that this isn't King's Quest and the stairs cannot harm me, I started exploring.

I found my way to the dining hall and got my first conversation the UI of which was sure familiar. I had to laugh that I'm playing this after Sam & Max Hit the Road. It's the same system!

This also made me go find a manual to see what these options actually mean and learn other controls.

So from left to right we have

Big smile - greeting

Clown - sarcasm

Question mark - question

Cloud (has an animated lightning bolt I didn't catch) - anger

Waving hand - goodbye

And then other topics can appear too.

I also found out that left clicking is for moving, of course I knew that. Right clicking examines. I'd figure that out. But most importantly, double clicking is how you interact. I also found out if you click on Rincewind you can access his teeny tiny two item inventory which is more like one item because once you get money, it sticks so you only ever have room to carry one other item on his person. The rest is for the Luggage when it's acquired.

I chatted with the wizards which while entertaining didn't give me anything too terribly useful to know at this point which is fine: mostly just chatter about wizardry and the dragon rumours. I like talking to all the people anyway. And Windle Poons was there too! He's an important character in one of the books.

In my continued exploration I found a storage room and got my first inventory item--a broom. I always get excited for my first item.

I also found a statue and a groaner:

I checked out the library and got an aside? An instructional aside? A game equivalent of a footnote as a nod to the books' footnotes?

There were a couple of these informative bits, one explaining the Librarian who is an orangutan--he was turned into one in a magical accident and refused to be changed back--and another discussing L-Space.

So far I've only seen these in the library.

Here's a whole page about L-Space! https://wiki.lspace.org/L-space

So a fun thing here I wasn't expecting and they don't explain at all so purely for book readers. The character giving these little lessons is Twoflower made clear by the glasses and camera, ahem, iconograph. He was in the first two books and was the Disc's first tourist. Circumstances led him and Rincewind to be travelling together and many antics ensued. He was also the original owner of the Luggage.

See? I can do asides too. Back to the game.

I also chatted with the Librarian "Ook!". And was told I'd need a library card to take anything out after much back and forth. I did get a little irked that a lot of the dialogue options led Rincewind to calling him a monkey, which is something you Do Not Do with the Librarian if you don't want the wrath of an orangutan. You do not want the wrath of an orangutan. Rincewind kept getting head bopped. Hard. It's just Rincewind of the books would know better! And he and the Librarian end up getting along pretty well. Then I reminded myself of 'inspired by' and carried on. Things are just going to be different. Not looking at anything horrifically egregious so far; it's okay. Even Rincewind himself isn't exactly right here in other ways either. Just hush that part of my brain.

I finally made my way to the Archchancellor and found out what he wanted.

Unseen University needed to be 'properly represented' in attempts to dispose of the dragon. Can't have some yokel slaying it and have people wondering what wizards are for. Then he sent me to go fetch a copy of Featherwinkle's Concise Compendium of Dragon Lairs from the library.

I ended up going back to Rincewind's room first, and with my knowledge of double clicking was able to open the wardrobe with a little magic and get a pouch of money. With the broom I was able to prod the Luggage awake and get it to join me.

Then back to the library where I was able to just request the book. No card needed when it's a request from the Archchancellor I suppose. Or the Librarian was trying to be rid of me earlier.

I brought the book back and the Archchancellor found the formula for Recoglimento's Neverfailing Dragon's Lair Revealer. He was quick to halt Rincewind's protests as well with making sure his performance would be brought to the attention of the university board when they review his grant next year. Ah, university politics.

So the formula, which thankfully can be accessed when checking the book again, so it's always handy needs four ingredients:

A staff of tumultuous thermaturgy.

A miniature creature of excitable chitters

A container made of the strongest ferrous metal

Dragon's breath! Ulp!

I got a voice actor joke too when I kept trying to talk to the Archancellor:

Archchancellor: "No time for idle chatter." Rincewind: "Well, sorry. As if I can help who supplies my voice."

Rincewind is voiced by Eric Idle. Heehee.

I have goals now! Good old adventure game object collecting!

Next up I'll do another sweep of the university in case anything changed, then check out whatever can be checked out on the grounds and presumably head into the city proper.

[continuations]

Thinking About AI: Part 2 - Structural Risks

Yesterday I wrote a post on where we are with artificial intelligence by providing some history and foundational ideas around neural network size. Today I want to start in on risks from artificial intelligence. These fall broadly into two categories: existential and structural. Existential risk is about AI wiping out most or all of humanity. Structural risk is about AI aggravating existing problems, such as wealth and power inequality in the world. Today's post is about structural risks.

Structural risks of AI have been with us for quite some time. A great example of these is the Youtube recommendation algorithm. The algorithm, as far as we know, optimizes for engagement because Youtube's primary monetization are ads. This means the algorithm is more likely to surface videos that have an emotional hook than ones that require the viewer to think. It will also pick content that emphasizes the same point of view, instead of surfacing opposing views. And finally it will tend to recommend videos that have already demonstrated engagement over those that have not, giving rise to a "rich getting richer" effect in influence.

With the current progress it may look at first like these structural risks will just explode. Start using models everywhere and wind up having bias risk, "rich get richer" risk, wrong objective function risk, etc. everywhere. This is a completely legitimate concern and I don't want to dismiss it.

On the other hand there are also new opportunities that come from potentially giving broad access to models and thus empowering individuals. For example, I tried the following prompt in Chat GPT "I just watched a video that argues against universal basic income. Can you please suggest some videos that make the case for it? Please provide URLs so I can easily watch the videos." and it quickly produced a list videos for me to watch. Because so much content has been ingested, users can now have their own "Opposing View Provider" (something I had suggested years ago).

There are many other ways in which these models can empower individuals, for example summarizing text at a level that might be more accessible. Or pointing somebody in the right direction when they have encountered a problem. And here we immediately run into some interesting regulatory challenges. For example: I am quite certain that Chat GPT could give pretty good free legal advice. But that would be running afoul of the regulations on practicing law. So part of the structural risk issue is that our existing regulations predate any such artificial intelligence and will oddly contribute to making its power available to a smaller group (imagine more profitable law firms instead of widely available legal advice).

There is a strong interaction here also between how many such models will exist (from a small oligopoly to potentially a great many) and to what extent endusers can embed these capabilities programmatically or have to use them manually. To continue my earlier example, if I have to head of Chat GPT every time I want to ask for an opposing view I will be less likely to do so than if I could script the sites I use so that an intelligent agent can represent me in my interactions. This is of course one of the core suggestions I make in my book The World After Capital in a section titled "Bots for All of Us."

I am sympathetic to those who point to structural risks as a reason to slow down the development of these new AI systems. But I believe that for addressing structural risks the better answer is to make sure that there are many AIs, that they can be controlled by endusers, that we have programmatic access to these and other systems, etc. Put differently structural risks are best addressed by having more artificial intelligence with broader access.

We should still think about other regulation to address structural risks but much of what has been proposed here doesn't make a ton of sense. For example, publishing an algorithm isn't that helpful if you don't also publish all the data running through it. In the case of a neural network alternatively you could require publishing the network structure and weights but that would be tantamount to open sourcing the entire model as now anyone could replicate it. So for now I believe the focus of regulation should be avoiding a situation where there are just a few huge models that have a ton of market power.

Some will object right here that this would dramatically aggravate the existential risk question, but I will make an argument in my next post why that may not be the case.

[dausy]

A few things have happened recently I guess since I updated here. I again, never feel like I do art stuff. I think I'm going to order a portable keyboard for my phone so I can photodump real life photos here as well but make it easier to upload from my phone. Its just easier to type on the desktop but too inconvenient to get photos off the phone.

so I did this colorful guy the other week and this past week I decorated a pumpkin for work that actually kinda came out cute. I was actually quite aggravated with work. We had a bunch of people quit and I honestly don't know how we're still open and why am I still there? I feel like I can't really complain about it because my former coworkers before I moved tried to get me to stay in Georgia knowing my husband was about to get deployed. It kinda makes you second guess whether that was a feasible option. But I'm also kind of limited on employment options here because I'm not bilingual. I'm honestly just chalk full of excuses and hate change (as much as I love change as well). My husband assures me I don't have to work but I don't want a resume gap and I like spending money obviously.

I've slowed down my art supply purchases compared to what I've done in the past for sure but now I want to buy some new winter clothes (it was actually too cold out for me to walk my dog today, in Georgia it didn't get cold til January) and because of the Disney100 celebration theres so much Simba merch out there and I just want it T_T

My birthday was on the 27th. I had rescheduled a minor dental surgery on my birthday and had already rescheduled it once because of work needs. My coworkers begged me to reschedule again but I couldn't. They said they had plans to take me out which was nice of them. I actually had a good birthday though. I worked until 1:15 and bolted out of there so fast to make it to my 2pm dental appointment. I stole the OR scrubs and ran. Before I left they hit me with confetti cannons (which are scarily loud, I've never seen those in real life), cake, chikfila, cash, gift cards, hand written notes..it was all very nice actually. I ate my chikfila that evening my cutting it into small piece I could eat with a fork. My husband had already sent me simba earrings but he also made sure I had some simba socks on my doorstep for my birthday which was really nice. Earlier in the month my MiL sent me a simba purse she made which was really cute and my mom sent me pajamas. Also really cute. So overall a good birthday month ignoring the interesting workplace drama.

I actually finished a few books this month. Hurricane Wars and Godkiller, bless both you authors.

I also didn't think I was going to do Halloween this year but my neighborhoods exploded with decorations which makes me wonder if there will actually be trickortreaters. So I got some candy..I think Ill just leave it on the doorstep though with a sign that says "please be nice and dont take all of it" instead of passing it.

My husband is doing ok but he called me today saying he's about had it with his one coworker too lol I live for workplace drama let me tell you.

But yeah, I may update again soon.

[libartz]

Day 9 of Downpour

Rivulet puts the ball in the goal and suddenly the route is over. Artificer achieves her goal and suddenly the route is over.

Rivulet

Now that I have the rarefactor cell, it's holding it on the main menu instead of the bubble plant! Such a cool detail

I went from Chimney Canopy down to Industrial Complex, and decided to check out the Pipeyard. I ended up finding a new gate from within the region, but it was to Sky Islands which is the opposite direction to where I wanted to be, so when I died I went elsewhere and found a gate to the...subterranean...ew

Shelter failures still happen even in this long-cycled state. Everything was underground so nothing much happened from the intermittent rain other than screen shaking. I do know there is a gate to Shoreline from it, which I went up to and now I'm in Shoreline. There are some long greeny water lizards in the water parts of pipeyard and subterranean, and some in shoreline.

I apparently can't just give Moon the thing, I have to go into her new region to activate it -_- this is gonna be annoying

Actually no I like this region it's cool. It kind of reminds me of subnautica

The new region contains at least one giant jellyfish. There's a lot of swimming, but activating the cell makes it superspeedy and fun.

There was a leviathan but the cell had run out so it chomped me and I died, but the cell exploded with a round screen-warpy effect and killed it! I didn't know they could die

I left the game to write this down and when I came back it had floated in such a way that it was completely straight and had straight fins almost like T-posing

I got the cell to the room, and when everything activated I got whooshed out of the area by water and ended up somewhere snowy. It has Aether Ridge vibes. It *almost* makes me want to try that region again except that said region is extremely aggravating.

Moon is saved! She's starting repairs, and broadcast to Pebbles at the end and I was nearly crying tears. I know pebs is dying but pls pls pls let him reply...

He didn't reply, but the ending art showed him still alive and getting a message. Yay he knows it wasn't in vain!

And now the route is over and the menu art is of Moon and Rivulet chilling and it's adorable. I wonder where Rivulet came from. It must have come from someone, since it started with a pearl

Artificer

So I found a scavenger leader, which I assume I'm meant to kill. It's under a big dome on top of the house of braids area. It's kind of hard, especially given once I aggro it the other scavs in the area come to help fight me. I died loads of times, and killed it mostly out of luck. If I had to get past the other scavs and sleep to save the death I would've been so mad, but fortunately no, it just fades like meeting an echo. The leader has 'monk' level karma from holding it.

After it faded to the karma screen, Artificer lost the higher karma levels I gained from echoes and went back to just wrath, and there was a cutscene where she fought all the watching scavs and claimed its mask and now the route is over??? I had a orange pearl I wanted to show to pebs but I guess I can't do that now

The 'game completed' screen for the route is her wearing the mask and looking v scray, rather than a ghost like the others.

I want to do this again and try actually ascending. The Echo implied that there might be a way to turn away from the path of endless rage, which I assume is by finding all the other echoes. I never even tried to get to Moon, which is probably going to be very different from normal.

[soda-boots]

Nearer to Thee

Album - Titanic Rising - Weyes Blood

Song right now - A Lot's Gonna Change

Haleemah told me she doesn't want to me to care about her and that really hurt me. I don't even know how to feel but just sad. This coupled with that dumb argument I had with Alicia a few weeks ago, I always just seem to push people away. I don't know how to pick a battle and I always seem to just be in the wrong constantly. Does that mean I just am always wrong.

Song - Andromeda

I don't even know how to interpret that except from harshly. Maybe it is a sin that a friendship has run its course. She said sometimes I'm very condescending and that definitely is a problem. I need to make a conscious effort to be more nicer and more kind when talking to people or maybe I shouldn't bother becoming close to people. There's no need to ever get in disagreements (what's the point it just makes things unnecessary tense).

I'm really enjoying this song.

I'm ready in try

I think I should take time to look inwards and reflect on why I push people away like this. Why do I feel the need to voice an opinion, negative or positive ? What's the point in being snarky even if unintentional ? Everyone says I'm so monotone and rude and have an odd sense of humour? Is this some sort of defence mechanism or am I truly just intrinsically a horrible person. Someone who just struggles to be normal in this way. To make and then keep friends. I"m so over this.

song - everyday

Then again love's not easy

I don't feel like I want to do this anymore. Tears keep streaming out of my eyes. Maybe I rely to much on people for emotional attachment and that's why it hurts so much when they disagree with me. Maybe I fail to see how I make people feel so when they do get cross I don't fully realise and so I keep going lacking the foresight of how unnecessary and aggravating it is to them. Am I so cold?

The idea just flashed in my mind of maybe Haleemah is going to or has apologised for what she said, but why should they. Why should they apologise for how they feel. I upset them and I now face the repercussions for it.

song - something to believe

and at night I just lay down and cry

the waters don't really go by me

Why can't I seem to keep a good friend without an occasional argument. I just wish I was just different from how I am now. How do I change myself ? Someone tell me. Someone please just help me be better. God help me.

I stay quiet and it's a problem. I voice my opinions and its a problem in my friendships. What's that happy middle ?

I just noticed that the Titanic rising cover is a actually a bedroom submerged and that there is a women in there. I never noticed that before. Previously I just thought it was some abstract art. It's so weird that that just came to my vision.

I feel trapped in the underwater room that is my off-putting personality.

My aunt mentioned that 'at my big age I don't have a girlfriend'. I don't want to always go back to this but it seems to be a reoccurring theme. I just fail to hold people on. To attract them and keep them long enough to stay. I'm so dramatic but this whole event hurts me so much.

song - Movies

Some people watch until they explode

It feels like some societal failure that I can't seem to get a partner and that no one has ever wanted me. Not my own friends, not strangers . My family a lot of the time, I always seem to just be always reprimanded for being myself. It feels like maybe I am just wrong. I genuinely mean this when I say it. No one else is to blame but myself for how outcasted I am. It's not a case of oh I haven't found my own people. I might just need to better hold myself to be better palatable I need to change, to be better.

I loved the ends of 'Movies'; for a lack of better words it was so cinematic. I need to be a better person. Lord guide me into being better.

Song : Mirror forever

You threw me out of the garden of eden

you lift me up just to fall me hard

[...]

I'll see you around the next time you come to town

This definitely feels like the end of a friendship, and that may just be me being melodramatic. Maybe tomorrow will come around and we'll still be friends, and this will just be me being a emotional wuss who likes to write self absorbed drivel about how horrible they are in a weird self-harmy attempt to regulate and work through their feeling. is this even a healthy coping mechanism or a self-pleasuring one.

'oh baby take a look in the mirror'

I might stop here, but I don't know yet. I still want to finish this album as I'm really enjoying it.

song- wild time

'Let these changes make you more holy and true'

Is it a wild time if I always seem to get myself back in these situations. Edit: Is it self harm to check if you message me? I should stop.

I need to stop lending my charger because now my laptop is about to die and I have no way to charge it.

song - Picture me better

I've always been like I want to write more and Ellis mentioned something about that but I can't remember what exactly what (strange)

Tell you how much you're adored/ There is no point anymore/ Waiting for the call from beyond

I'm on the final track. I should write more happy stuff. I should write about 15th July and the day I had with Jack. That might be fun to write about and no existential dread stuff allowed and no crying neither.

doing : Nearer to Thee

is such a beautiful instrumentation piece and a wonderful closer. I'm replaying it and I must say strings always get me going, always.

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Okay so I just wrote this in the tags of another post but now I'm going to subject you all to it directly

DC could 100% redeem Thad Thawne and make all of his past characterizations make sense. Stay with me here.

So one of the biggest issues people have with DCs handling of Thad Thawne as a character was how he was treated outside of the Impulse series. The Impulse series created and introduced Thad. Thad was created to prune the Thawne family tree of its bad apple, aka Bart Allen. See, Bart is half Allen and half Thawne, a fact that has the Thawnes very conflicted. On one hand Bart is speed. By god that boy bleeds speedforce. Bart is without a doubt the fastest speedster in the Thawne legacy. But on the other hand Bart is too much of an Allen to be a Thawne legacy. The kid is good, through and through. So naturally the only recourse for the Thawnes was to create a new Bart, one with extra extra Thawne DNA, to replace the old one. Can't have a Thawne in the history books wearing their enemy's logo, now can they?

So Thad was given a purpose in life (kill Bart and be a better, more Thawne, version of him) but not much else. No parents, no love, no friends, no childhood, nothing. When Thad replaced Bart he suddenly found himself with friends who cared about him, a stable home life and a father figure who loved him unconditionally and Thad realized what he actually wanted in life. He wanted love. He craved love. But the love he was receiving wasn't meant for him, it was Bart's.

Thad's last appearance in the Impulse series had him seconds away from killing both Bart and Max, seconds away from completing his objective in life and securing his place in the Thawne family legacy, but he chose to walk away instead and let them live. I really can't do this scene justice by explaining it so just read this:

This is a child who just wants to be loved. His character is compelling, he's endearing, he's a tragedy. And DC decided to just ignore all of that and make him a psychotic mass murderer that explodes babies for fun and sexually assaults women. It's aggravating and it's another example of DC dumbing down characters for the worse.

BUT!

I can fix it.

Here's the thing, it's dumb but it's completely canon that Eobard Thawne can hypnotize other speedsters using the speedforce.

Bart randomly didn't talk to his family for over a year? Thawne hypnotized him because he didn't want him in the way. Wally covered up HiC? Thawne thought it'd upset Barry. Barry had a temper tantrum? Thawne. Ace was fine with the Teen Titans brutalizing people? Thawne thought it'd be funny. Jay's midlife crisis? It's all Thawne.

So when an emotionally vulnerable and vaguely homicidal little boy comes to the conclusion that he's been robbed of a normal, loving childhood, it's only reasonable to assume that he would go and take issue with his creator. And by 'take issue' I mean that he was probably planning on killing Thawne for creating him in the first place. And it's only reasonable to assume that Thawne, upon seeing that a 'valuable tool' of his has started to rebel, would immediately hypnotize Thad into completing his objective and being more 'Thawne-like'.

TLDR: After Mercury Falling Thad went to go fist fight Thawne and Thawne used hypnosis on him to make him more Evil™ and to get him to kill Bart. That's why in subsequent appearances Thad was suddenly hellbent on murdering Bart and was 'exploding babies for fun' levels of evil.